Taylor's Perspective

My hand freezes as I find an old sheet of paper, buried underneath my school notes. The crinkles at the edges are rough on my skin, but it's readable.

I thought I threw this away. I'm glad I didn't.

Placing the parchment on the wooden lectern in front of me, I smile, playing the tune in my head. There's a wonky bar line at the beginning, some notes fill out more lines than they should, and the treble clef looks more like an ampersand--but I understand what it means. I wrote it, after all.

This seems like a good enough distraction. I'll think about writing my performance songs later. The Sanctum School of Fine Arts music festival ain't for another few weeks; surely, I can spare a minute or two thinking about something else. If Miss Lauriana walks in, she'll understand.

It'll be fine.

With a soft crack in my knuckles, I place the pads of my fingers on the instrument's silky surface. I adjust myself on the backless leather stool I'm sitting on, and assume the position, my arms parallel to the floor. Eyes on the parchment, I take a small breath in and smile a tiny smile to myself.

My fingers dance over the piano, tapping the right black and white slabs in perfect sequence. They stretch apart as they fly from key to key, the beautiful blends of bass and treble notes enveloping me like a snug blanket on a cold winter's day. A familiar warmth runs down my spine; right here, right now, there is nothing else in the world except me and this grand piano.

Instinctively, my throat starts to hum the notes of the lyrics I had written for the song. My fingers pick up in tempo. Since it's nearly four-thirty in the afternoon, nobody's in or near the music department, aside from the odd teacher that's behind on marking or the occasional cleaner swapping bin liners. Having memorised this part of the song by heart, I shut my eyes and start to sing the love-inspired lyrics aloud.

Before I can sing a whole line, the door to the classroom swings open. My voice and fingers halt; who's there? Miss Lauriana?

"Hey," Darko says, his voice chipper. Finally--I thought he was never going to show up.

His schoolbag hangs from his right hand, the adjustment straps dragging along the linoleum floor. I arch an eyebrow. His trainers squeak like mice as he makes his way to me.

"You took your time getting here," I say, folding my arms. "Did you bring anything?"

Nodding, he pats his schoolbag, a sly grin forming at the corner of his mouth as he stands next to me. "I got the goods. Grade-A chocolate bars, cookies galore; hell, I even found a nice bag of chips, hence why I took so long. We gotta be careful though, don't want to leave any crumbs on the floor."

He tosses his backpack to me. "Yeah, you don't want another cleaner coming in here and giving us dirty looks. Heaven forbid."

He snickers, looking at the door. "What? Cleaner Brenda adores me. I don't wanna ruin her opinion on me because I'm a messy eater!"

I shake my head, smiling to myself. "Sure."

We share a grin before Darko smiles at the piano. "What were you playing before I came in? It sounded wicked, can I hear it?"

I shake my head, waving a dismissive hand in the air as I grab the sheet music from the lectern, stashing it back into my bag like a squirrel stashing nuts. "It's just some old garbage that I wrote when I was younger. Don't bother. Go grab a chair; I'll play some Beethoven. You love him."

He pouts, nodding soon after. Getting up, he walks towards a stack of chairs and neatly lifts one, my eyes trailing from his biceps, the muscles peeking out as they lift the seat, down to the curve in his lower back as he hoists it. Dragging the seat behind him, he trails his free hand over the piano's edge, clearing a few lines of dust off the instrument, coating his fingertips. He sits next to it, facing me with a small grin.

God, he's so freaking cute.

My eyes fall to his lips and thoughts of me getting up, leaning over him and kissing him overtake my brain.

Feeling my chest burst with warmth, I force my gaze away. No. You need to stop thinking about your best friend like that. He's straight.

"Everything okay, Tay?"

I blink, refocusing on the piano. "Sorry, sorry. Was just thinking of a song to play. Fur Elise?"

Facing the instrument, I sigh to myself and crack my wrists, a little embarrassed.

Saying it's hard being in love with your best friend is probably one of the biggest understatements of the century. Also, probably one of the most cliché things to say. But eh, it's true.

I can't even remember when we first started being friends, but according to hundreds of photos my Dad has of us, it must have started sometime in kindergarten. Dad had told me that I came home one day, animatedly talking about a boy named Darko that shared his snacks with me and played with me in the sandpit. I vaguely remember another instance where Darko said I was a cool friend--that must have been the thing that cemented our friendship.

We had hung out and had sleepovers basically every week, all throughout my primary school years. Then, when high school rolled around, teenage-hood came knocking on my door, hard.

No, more like it broke down the door.

Some changes were welcome-- I got taller and my voice dropped. Facial hair sprouted too--y'know, the good stuff. The biggest change was definitely the moment I realised I liked boys.

Some people have their sexual awakenings in other ways; some crush on actors, some people realise their favourite music artist is actually better than the music. Some discover their feelings by accident, like buying undies and staring a little too long at the model in the packages. Mine was also by accident, but no underwear photos were involved.

Darko was waiting for me after class had finished and it just clicked. I remember looking at him and had felt my heart shift. Everything had changed. I was mesmerised, but I brushed them off as me simply being excited to see him. It kept happening for a few weeks, but what really convinced me of my gayness was at a pool party; Lyra, one of my other friends, was in a very revealing bikini and Darko was shirtless, and I couldn't keep my eyes off of him. Watching him walking out of the pool in skin-tight shorts because of the water, his entire body slick and shiny under the hot Australian sun...

Yeah. I'm so gay.

After I began finding Darko attractive, I started noticing that other guys looked good too, and not in the 'his-hair-looks-nice' kind of way, but more like the 'I-really-maybe-want-to-kiss-his-lips' kind of way. But none were as heart-stopping as Darko was, and by the end of Year Nine, I was crushing so hard on him. Now, I think I love him.

Shaking my head, I take a deep breath in, refocusing on the task in front of me. Rolling my wrists out onto the piano keys, I assume the position.

My fingers begin to gain their strength, slowly but surely playing Fur Elise. Darko closes his eyes, swaying to the sounds the instrument produces, a playful smile on his lips. He hums along to the notes he recognises. I glance at him, and the world falls away.

His smooth, rose-tinged creamy skin is covered with arcs of afternoon light, sprinkled about like confetti on his face from the window. His thick, slightly unkempt eyebrows are curved like black swooping arches over his eyes. His small, pointy nose compliments his wide forehead and jutting chin. These features, combined with his chiselled jaw, make people all over school look twice.

But, to me, his best feature is his eyes; like blue glimmering stars.

As if on cue, he opens his eyes and looks out of a nearby window, smiling to himself. I could stare at them all day; god, a desert should be named after his eyes.

I play the final note. The melody fades into the air, my breath being the only audible noise. He turns, looking at me with a small grin on his face.

"God Tay, you need to teach me how to play. It's honestly magical listening to you."

My chest flutters at his comment. "T-thanks. It'll take a while though, to get at least decent with it. It took me years to get to where I am, and a lot of dedication."

Darko frowns, eyes focusing on the instrument.

"B-besides, don't you have your dirt-bike races to focus on?"

He looks up, shrugging one shoulder with a grunt. "I can ride my bike anytime. Not like I'm giving up one hobby to learn another. I can balance them."

I nod. "Alright then. Maybe we'll start with Fur Elise one day and work from there?"

Darko beams, a toothy smile spreading across his face. "I'll be the best pupil, my good sir."

I physically cringe. Darko sees and cracks up laughing.

"You know I hate that nickname."

"I know, but I also know you won't do anything to stop me."

I huff, looking away. He's goddamn right.

He's been calling me that since I got back from a hotel performance in Sydney. It was in this super fancy Victorian-style building--I showed Darko some pictures of the foyer and now he won't stop thinking I'm some posh, upper-class sir who played for the noble folk.

"Another song?" Darko requests, I roll my eyes, assuming the position.

"I swear, I'm like a human Spotify to you."

He taps his temple, smirking. "We have a good system! You play the beats, and I bring the feasts. Plus, I also bring moral support."

"Right. Thanks, you're so generous."

He takes a bow, giggling. "My pleasure, my good sir."

We share a laugh. Just as I think of a song to play, a thunderous crash sounds in the room as a figure throws the classroom door open. There's a blur of brown, white, and orange, followed by a meaty thud against the linoleum floor. Darko jumps in his seat at the noise, making me snort. It's Miss Lauriana.

Oh, wait. Crap. She's on the floor, and paper is everywhere.

Darko and I spring out of our seats, both helping her up and picking up the orange parchments that lay scattered.

"Oof-- thanks, boys," she says. With an embarrassed smile, she walks to her desk, placing the papers down. Even though she has twins and is in her late forties, Miss Lauriana is a sight to behold. Jet-black curly hair sways as she moves to her seat, her face like an acorn both in colour and shape. Her conservative white dress pops against the deep bronze-brown of her skin. She's my favourite teacher, always smiling and being a warm welcome wherever she goes.

But yeah, she's clumsy. The other day, she had tripped on a step in front of the school and doused a student with iced coffee. That student, now lovingly nicknamed Cold Brew Conor, now avoids her like the plague.

"Sorry you had to see me like that. Hope a passing teacher in the hall didn't either. I'm still recovering from the last joke they've made from me. Anyway, how are you boys?" She asks, her voice warm.

"We're good," Darko and I say in unison by accident. I sheepishly grin.

"That's good! Music festival practice sounds like it's going well. Have you ploughed through your snack stockpile yet? I'm starving."

I giggle, walking towards Darko's backpack. "Nope, haven't even started. Chocolate bar, cookies, or chips?"

"Oh, the chocolate bar would be lovely, thanks."

I toss her the snack, and she unwraps and takes a bite. "You two should be heading home soon, it's nearly five. Do you need a lift?"

"I'm all good, I've already planned my bus ride home," I say. Darko arches an eyebrow at me.

"I can drop you off if you want?"

"I... I think I'd prefer the bus," I say back. Darko looks wounded.

"But busses are gross!"

Something wells in my gut and I assume it's annoyance. "I appreciate the offer but I want to study on the bus. I'd get way too distracted in your car."

I grit my teeth at my lie. Sure, I definitely know I'd get distracted staring at him as his taut arms pull and steer the wheel, but that's not why I don't want to be in there.

Turning to Miss Lauriana, I hand her another chocolate bar. "Thanks for letting me stay behind after school. See you tomorrow."

"You're welcome. Thanks again for the food. See you two later."

Darko and I grab our things, and after a quick goodbye, we head our separate ways.

#

The bus rolls to a stop in front of me, the two-fold doors opening with a whistling creak. Tapping my bus card on the pay machine, I offer a weak smile to the bus driver, who greets me with a tired nod. Feeling eyes fall on me, I hustle to the back of the bus just as the vehicle starts to move, making me stumble.

Sitting on one of the unwashed seats, I pointedly look out of the window, trying not to stand out. I've never liked bus rides, but it's better than being in a car, thinking of mum.

As we hit a set of traffic lights, the glass begins to pearl with green, red and yellow raindrops, the sight stunning against the navy blue of the evening sky.

I toss my earbuds in, hitting shuffle. Inside the bus is a cosy mixture of bored and restless people waiting for their stop. Some read books, feign sleep with earbuds in like me, or sit, texting. A little boy is sitting at the very front seat with his mother, the latter shushing his shrill and fast voice. A south-east Asian man with a briefcase is snoring in the very back of the bus, probably exhausted from work.

Feeling myself drift, I turn up the volume of whatever Fleetwood Mac song is playing and shut my eyes, lightly leaning my head against the glass. With my free hand, I grip my backpack, weaving a leg inside one of the shoulder straps. If I fall asleep, someone's going to have a hard time stealing my stuff.

My head and body bounces and sways with the bus's suspension, but it's weirdly soothing.

Feeling my phone vibrate in my palm, I snap my eyes open, the screen lighting up. I look at my phone--covering my lock screen is a message from Ana, my younger sister. Great--what does she want?

Hey Tay. Are you on your way home yet? Just letting you know Dad's passed out again. Could you stop by the shops on your way back? We've run out of food.

"Right, of course we've run out of food," I mumble to myself, annoyed. She could afford to not eat for a little bit.

Already passed the shops. We'll order takeout or something. Be home soon.

As I hit send, Darko's name appears as a notification. He's messaged me, too.

Are you free later tonight, by any chance?

My heart does a somersault.

Hey to you too--and yeah, I should be. Ana's just told me that Dad's passed out again, so I can probably do something after I check him out. Why? What's up?

As I read his message, I glance up to see my stop approaching. Pressing the bell button, I unplug my headphones and sling my bag over my shoulder. Getting out of my seat, I stand by the back doors, waiting for Darko's reply.

It comes in a few moments.

Sorry to hear that about your Dad. :(

I go to text back, but his speech bubble pops back up.

I'm home alone and super bored. Stefan's out with his mates, and the 'rents are having a date night. Don't want to spend the night by myself (no homo). If you're free, do you wanna hang out? I could come to yours if that's easier.

The bus rolls to a stop. Tapping my card against the machine again, I leave the bus, mentally kicking myself for not thanking the bus driver. Eh, he looked too tired to respond, anyway.

Looking at my phone, I smile, then cringe. No homo--really? I roll my eyes as I walk down my street, my house popping into view.

I'll see. Just... let me see the damage at home first, and I'll update you.

Fishing through my bag, I produce my house keys. Darko sends a final text.

Sure thing. Keep me in the loop. Good luck, bro—I hope the bus ride was safe, too.

I smile as I insert the key in the lock.

It was.