Luna's POV
I sit on the uncomfortable stool, my back unsupported. My fingers graze over the piano keys. I've never learnt to play, but I would watch my mother play songs for hours, my little mind mesmerised by how quick her fingers to move, and how the sound that would correspond would sound so beautiful when every time I've ever tried it only ever amounts in frayed notes.
I press down on one of the white keys, letting the note ring true in my ears, watching intently as the sting on the inside of the lifted piano lid pulls.
I haven't spoken to Zayn since he blew up at me in the hallway, but he's been plaguing my mind. I've been trying to ignore the things I saw downstairs, the chains, and the things that didn't really happen, him in the chains, fighting against them, but I am failing miserably. I also seem to be obsessing over his words. I don't give a fuck whether you like me or not. I'm annoyed at myself for wanting him to care.
My phone buzzes and I'm slow to check it. The forty-eighth message from Zoey asking where I am. I'm sure she's losing her mind over where I am, but I haven't been able to bring myself to respond, not knowing the words to use to explain the situation I'm in.
My fingers hesitate over the keys, before quickly typing.
*I'm OK, I promise. I'll be back soon.
I know that will probably do little to ease her mind, but I have nothing else to give. I put the phone on silent and place it down. I let my head fall into my hands, relieving my neck of the tension building up in it, only momentarily.
"Do you know how to play?" In our normal fashion, Zayn greets me with a question while I'm deep in thought.
I look up toward the door where he stands, shirtless and wearing a pair of basketball shorts. He leans against the door as he waits for an answer from me.
"You shouldn't sneak up on people like that." I scold, pressing my palm to my chest "You scared me, it's rude."
"Oh, but I suppose in your rulebook of manners, going through someone's stuff, going into their private rooms, breaking their lamps, that's ok?" He grins, entertained.
I look away from him, embarrassed.
"So, can you play?" He repeats.
"No." I shake my head "My mum did, I never got around to learning."
He moves to the white drinks cabinet, grabbing a glass and a dark brown liquid I've never become acquainted with. I study the contours of his back as he does. Tattoos cover his skin, different illustrations I've not had the chance to study yet, along with two long scars that drag down his back, red and angry, but somewhat faded like he's had them a long time. I've never seen scars so big, so deeply cut into the skin, and I don't want to imagine what caused them.
"They're from an accident I had when I was young. If you'd like to take a picture, I'm sure it would be easier for you to analyse them." He says very bluntly, pouring the brown liquid into the glass.
"Sorry." I choke out, not expecting him to be aware of my wandering eyes.
He turns and stares me right in the face with an intensity I didn't expect. I look back at him, feeling the tenseness in his stare. I feel the normal pressure on my brain when he and I lock eyes, my thoughts becoming hazy and I feel as if I'm about to drop to sleep right here. I blink again and again as a headache manifests and images flash past my eyes, trying to focus very hard on not breaking eye contact with Zayn, as well as staying upright which becomes increasingly difficult.
His eyes start changing, the brown in his eyes almost illuminating and becoming a shiny gold, then going deeper as they turn into dark brown waves, crashing against each other in a furious storm.
Images of him flash in my mind. His face, his scars, his mouth, his eyes.
I use what force I have and turn my head from him, breaking the eye contact and feeling the rush as my senses begin to return to normal. I'm nervous to look back at him, but I do it anyway.
"Cat got your tongue?" He asks, sipping his drink.
I stumble upon words I can't form.
"Do you want me to teach you a song?" He bites his bottom lip, pointing at the piano that I sit at.
I shake my head and pull my fingers away from the keys "No, I'm terrible."
He moves closer, taking a seat next to me on the piano stool. I feel my heart pick up as the bare skin of his bicep presses to the exposed skin on my arm, having worn a short sleeve shirt today.
"It's not hard, it's just about being observant." He says quietly, and it's as if his words dance on my spine, sending the hairs on my arms to stand up straight "Watch."
He leans forward, fingers gracing the piano keys. My eyes follow his fingertips as they move skillfully over them, pressing into specific ones in time to a song that sounds weirdly familiar. I watch in awe, surprised at the precision with which he plays.
"What song?" I whisper.
"Hijo de la Luna." He hums, not pausing his fingers "You know it?"
"My mum used to play that, I always liked it because I'm a narcissist, obviously." I chuckle.
"Obviously," He repeats teasingly.
"I haven't heard it since she died."
He keeps playing until the completion of the song, letting the last notes ring out.
"Now you," He instructs.
"What?" I scoff "I don't know how."
"Think about what my fingers just did, which keys they pressed, and try to repeat it."
He says it as if it's so simple, and I guess, on some level, it is.
I reach out to the keys, racking my brain to remember what he did. I press the first key and cringe when I realise it's incorrect.
"It's OK, keep going." He encourages me.
I nod, attempting again and hitting the right note now. He smiles.
I keep going, mimicking his previous movements. I manage to get the first few bars of the song out before pressing another wrong key, the note hitting my ears wrong.
"I'm ruining the song." I nervously laugh, snatching my fingers back.
"No," He takes my right hand in his, pulling it back to the keys "You're learning it."
I look up to him, this is the most soft-spoken with me he's ever been.
"I'm sorry, for going downstairs... for the lamp." I gnaw at my bottom lip until it is raw "For all of it, really."
He falters, clearly not expecting my apology.
"I'm sorry I shouted at you, touched you the way I did." He responds, voice quiet and subtle "I should have never acted like that."
"It's OK."
"No, it's not." He corrects me "No one should speak to you like that. I put my hands on you, Luna."
"You grabbed my arm, I'd hardly call that putting your hands on me." I try to dismiss the subject.
"I would, and I won't do again. This has been a fucked up week, and I haven't helped. You're in a house you don't know with a stranger, and I should've been more patient with you yesterday. I won't get mad at you like that again." He reassures me.
"OK." I nod simply, but I feel the urge to melt into his side. I have rarely had such comfort and understanding from someone.
"I do care if you like me, you know." He gently nudges me with his elbow.
I fight a smile but lose.
"I do." I whisper.
He stands, breaking the physical touch of our shoulders against one another, pointing to the piano "If you do five minutes a day, you'll be as good as me in no time."
"Maybe better." I jest.
"Oh, never better." He grins "My ego wouldn't allow it."
"You know, you're half pleasant when you want to be."
"That's the thing though, isn't it, I don't want to be often."
"I think the more time you spend with me, the harder it is to keep up the rouse that you don't care about anything, that you're a bad person." I challenge "I think by the end of this we'll be the best of friends."
He crinkles his eyes and nose "I wouldn't count on it, doll."
I cringe "I hate that nickname."
"Well, would you look at that?" He turns, making his way to the door "I happen to not care."
I watch him leave, turning back to the piano, the faint memory of the song he just played for me in the forefront of my mind. I close my eyes, picturing the movement of his fingers once more.
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