Author's Note:

please dont kill me

- Aleavon

Tired eyelids slowly separated his consciousness from the engulfing warmth of the blankets that wrapped him up like he a caterpillar in its chrysalis, save for the beauty that would emerge from the enclosure in the case of the caterpillar. Will grumbled incoherently as the rays of sunlight punctured his comfortable unconsciousness, slowly urging him to tear his apathetic form away from his warm bed so that he could make the most use of his life. His golden, disheveled curls of hair drooped down past his ears, the back side almost reaching his shoulders, easily depicting the prolonged interval time since his last haircut. Dark bags hugged the underside of his now dull, previously sky-blue eyes, which now resembled the shade of the cumulonimbus clouds that raced across the sky when interrupting the beautiful weather of springtime; an opaque, ominous grey with a small hopeful tint of the blue atmosphere that lay underneath the darkness.

He trudged across the carpet of the small apartment in his underwear, not that it mattered, since no one else was ever in the secluded area anyways, save for his landlord popping in every few weeks or so to remind him that his rent was due. Yes, he was a student, but his father still continuously funded his education despite his emotional state dragging down his desire to continue along his path, instead wanting to live out his life in solitude and despair. So, he only had a roof over his head because he came from a family with privilege. He hopped around from part-time job to part-time job, never able to keep a commitment longer than a few weeks because of his "lack of customer and patient interaction", his "rebellious silence", and his "refusal to follow directions promptly". What caused him to go from the happy-go-lucky person he was in undergrad to the emotionally devoid person he was today, he did not know, but he did know that under all of the layers of detachment, he did wish he could think and feel the way he did before. Something had been lost in the storm of hist maturation.

As he opened the miniature fridge to grab the bowl of chilled, MSG-filled, instant noodles he had made yesterday in his occasionally functioning microwave, he struggled to find something to focus on. Clouded blue eyes observed for the thousandth time his graceful, "surgeon hands", as his father liked to put it. No matter how anxious or excited he was, his hands were always as steady as the slow ticking of the wall clock above the kitchen window, everpresent. The weathered, bamboo chopsticks his dad had brought back from one of his many expeditions to the enormous, outside world were of almost no interest to him, the intricate carvings almost completely worn away from years of extended use. The solitary table with two chairs, one of which was completely cluttered with textbooks and school materials a monument of his solitary life.

He quietly slurped up the cold noodles and contemplated what he was going to do today. Searching for another job held no interest to him, as he had no more resources he was willing to contact to search for another 10 day operation before leaving. There was nothing for him to do inside his apartment - he had already tried everything from art to yoga, and nothing interested him at all. The only thing that he might be able to do on his own lay outside of his domain, and without the friends that he had lost contact with so many years ago it seemed to be more daunting with each second of thought that he gave to the action. Despite everything that held him back, Will decided to get dressed nonetheless, bundling up relatively warmly for the freshly introduced fall season, and closed the door with phone, keys, and wallet in pocket.

Immediately, a freezing wind blasted his visage with the smell of dried leaves and the despair of freshmen starting school, reminding him of why he did not often venture outside the closed door of his fourth-story floor. Will slowly descended the old, dusty staircase and finally left the apartment complex of his own free will. For him to go anywhere required him to step into the metro system, for which he already had a MetroCard. He walked slowly past the rushed businessmen and women, the chattering tourists who were eager to explore the bustling city, the quiet people who minded their own business, heads down and hands in pockets, and finally reached the benches by the subway where people waited for their arriving subway car. While the so-called "rat racers" took part in the daily rush-hour cramming into the fully packed cars, Will sat off to the side, waiting for the people to mostly die down before he attempted to obtain one of the abstractly colored subway seats. People left and right bumped and jostled him, the occasional person stepping on his relatively new running shoes. Despite the fact that Will had had the shoes for two years, the ever-bright neon colors gleamed with the small rays of the overhead fluorescent lights that broke through the large mass of moving people. It had truly been much too long since he had been out on his own.

In his isolation, he suddenly heard a resonating, methodical sound that had not been part of his life since he was a child: the sound of a guitar being tuned. Gentle fingers somewhere in the room plucked at the strings, slowly adjusting the keys on the end of the fingerboard to the desired angle and sound. Knowing that where there was guitar tuning, there was sure to be music. A couple of major and minor chord progressions broke through the bustling, chaotic sounds of the crowded station as Will listened intently for what would come later: a few strums and soon, the melody of a song. Will scanned his surroundings, frantically searching for the source of the sound. It had been much too long since he had last heard the soul-searching expression of an artist and their instrument.

A silky, angelic voice floated above the other muted and chattering voices in the crowd, drawing Will's attention to the corner of the terminal. The only thing he could see was an open guitar case and a pair of white Adidas tennis shoes, so he cautiously stood up and shifted a few benches over so he could gaze upon the producer of this harmonious melody. At long last, he had finally found the object of his attention. A raven-haired young man sat, slightly hunched over his instrument, his shaggy locks slightly covering pale and ethereal features filled with emotion as he poured his very being into the lyrics of the song. A worn leather jacket was draped over his shoulders, wrists slightly poking out of the cuffs. He shifted his position, and propped his arms up on his black skinny jeans.

Will knew the song the musician was playing. It had been an old favorite of his, now a few years old, but still one of his favorites by Sam Smith. The breathtaking rendition of this age-old song had Will's gaze glued to the graceful guitar player as he took in every single ounce of the music.

"I don't want you to leave, will you hold my hand?" the musician sang mournfully, scanning the room before his eyes suddenly locked onto Will's. Will's blue eyes betrayed his surprise at being noticed and immediately looked away, a bright red blush quickly spreading across his cheekbones and nose. He shyly glanced back to see the dark-haired man slightly smiling back at him, continuing on with the song as his eyes said, Don't go away, just sit and enjoy for a bit.

"Oh, won't you, stay with me?" Long lashes gently touched raised cheekbones as the singer closed his eyes, loss and pain so strongly etched into his expression that Will could almost swear that these words came from somewhere deep within their two beings. Dark coffee brown eyes once again met sky blue eyes, and this time, they watched each other through their windows of the soul, exploring the other's pain from a distance without saying a word to the other person as the music almost faded into the back of Will's mind.

They sat like that for an indeterminable amount of time, watching the other through little glances and almost playing a version of peek-a-boo as neither as the music played in the background. Occasionally they'd make eye contact again, and then the musician would once again shake his long black curls over his eyes, breaking the visual exchange and return to the song. After what seemed to have been much too short of a time interval, the people cleared out, but Will found himself sitting there three hours later and felt a sudden urge to leave the station despite this new person he had met. He moved to leave, but then felt like he could not leave without truly acknowledging the musician's contribution to his uplifted spirits.

So, Will slowly stood up, and stepped towards the enchantingly gorgeous man for the first time. Will leaned down, pressing a twenty-dollar bill into the musician's hand as he quietly murmured a "thank you" with all of the emotion that he could muster, and quickly dashed onto the departing subway car. As he settled back down in his seat, he turned back to look at the mysterious man and watched his face contort from disbelief, to confusion, and then finally to wistfulness as the musician looked up to watch one of the only two people that had ever made him feel special, even if just for a moment.