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13

Ellise

NOVEMBER

Two hours.

We’ve been locked in this practice room for two straight hours, and for the first time since October, the Nocturne is beginning to feel something other than a total catastrophe.

We’ve been at this for six weeks now—deep into November—spending countless hours together across multiple practice sessions.

It isn’t good, by any means.

If Professor Mathias walked through the door right now, he’d ruthlessly tell us we are nowhere near stage-ready for the Spring Showcase.

And he would be right.

Our musical styles are still heavily mismatched. We both know it. I am a pristine soloist, trained to execute every single mark on the page, while Julian refuses to put any discipline into his gift. We are pulling in opposite directions—my precision against his musicality, my control against his raw instinct.

“Merge your worlds,” Mathias told us.

I still have absolutely no idea how we are supposed to do that.

It is evidently much easier said than done.

But something fundamental has shifted between us recently.

It isn’t the music—that is still a mess—but the very air between us has changed. The volatile tension that used to choke us has mellowed into something less directed. Julian seems calmer. It’s a version of him I was not prepared for, but as I watch his fingers trace the keys, I realise it’s one I’m not completely averse to.

Tonight, he is nursing another disgusting hangover. Shock. It means he has been slightly slower on the keys this evening—which I have noted and said absolutely nothing about. Over the last few weeks something resembling a truce has quietly established itself, and I choose not to disrupt it over his life choices. I am choosing not to be petty. Though, truthfully, it is incredibly infuriating that he continues to behave like this.

I really don’t understand how he can drink so regularly, yet still sound better than most people at their absolute best. I can barely manage with a full schedule and the crushing pressure of a scholarship that requires me to be the best version of myself all the time. That’s exhausting enough. I haven’t had a drink since the second week of term when I had exactly three drinks and spent the week recovering. Julian somehow miraculously does it. He rolls out of bed and then sits at the piano and plays like it barely affects him.

Apart from tonight.

Tonight, it is clearly affecting him.

On the bright side, my body feels strangely loose this evening which is ironic, given the hypermobility. But on certain days, it settles into a quiet compromise, and the pain reduces rather than fights against me. Tonight is one of those evenings, which I am so grateful for. My violin bow feels light in my hand for once.

The worst thing about tonight is not the faint, lingering scent of stale whiskey. The worst thing about tonight is the terrifying realisation that Julian Thorne is actually tolerable. Even in his hungover state.

I never, ever expected to have that thought pass through my brain. I try pushing it to the back of my mind, but it resurfaces.

Over the last few weeks, the jagged edges of his personality have started to wear down in a way that I cannot account for. It’s like he has started to drop his walls when he is around me. He is quieter, calmer, less deliberately destructive and occasionally almost approachable.

His default ‘dickhead’ setting seems to have been temporarily switched off. And the terrifying truth, another one that I am trying to push to the back of mind, is that I don’t hate spending time with him anymore.

This is a significant problem.

As I move my violin bow to cue the next run-through, my stomach makes a sound, an utterly mortifying loud growl that fills the brief silence with the realisation that I haven’t eaten since this morning.

Julian’s fingers freeze above the keys as he turns his head and looks at me, as my stomach makes its feelings known for the second time in less than a minute.

“What’s wrong, Bow-Peep?”

He’s watching me with that focused expression that has replaced the look of absolute disdain.

Like Maddie, he always seems to be asking me what’s wrong. Which makes me think, am I actually that transparent, or has Julian Thorne been paying closer attention than I give him credit for? Am I really that much of a liability? I push the thought aside. I have enough problems to deal with without inventing new ones to add to the list.