A short story

Written by Georgios Giannarakis (He/Him)

‘Crescendo is a visceral exploration of the intersections of power, control, queer identity, and self-isolation. In this written piece, I have aimed to draw tension from the discordant rhythms of human relationships and the performative masks we wear in the face of societal expectations. Through our protagonist Sielo’s journey, the story examines the complexities of queer identity and the quiet struggles of living authentically. I have tried to make music be both a sanctuary and a weapon that emphasises the beauty and destruction entwined in Sielo’s life.’

Act I

The jingle of the office keys reverberated in the man's ears; the sharp, metallic sound disrupted his resting head on the desk.

     ‘Locked up all the offices while you were sitting here, slacking off.’ She startled him as she stood by the office door, laughing her ridiculous laugh. ‘Time we made a move, so it is.’ 

     Raising his gaze to meet hers, the man’s lack of response and his neutral expression to such an obviously humourless statement puzzled her. She stood before him with her long face, tapping against the dial of her clunky watch, awaiting his response.

   ‘Sielo? Are you here?’ The woman probed impatiently, while he seemed to have disconnected from her world. Sielo was staring at the metronome stationed on his desk. He removed his browline glasses and wiped them clean with a cloth. The nose pads of his glasses compressed his skin, leaving red marks on the bridge. She continued, ‘Are you ready?’

     Upon returning from his reverie, he answered, ‘What must I be ready for, Aoife?’

     Aoife rolled her eyes and grimaced, as if Sielo uttered something preposterous.

     ‘The farewell party for Mariam, of course. How could you forget something so important?’ Sielo sighed. Aoife kept going, ‘You RSVP'd to the email I sent to all faculty two weeks ago.’  Her voice was lined with urgency, as if that exact moment of departure was of utmost importance.

     ‘No. I did not RSVP, Aoife. You responded on my behalf,’ Sielo retorted, his annoyance visible on his normally placid face. ‘I’m still trying to figure out how you managed to do that.’

    Sielo and Aoife worked at the city’s premier music school. Aoife, an Irish expat, had moved to Melbourne from Dublin four months prior to pursue a career in music. But while Sielo taught the piano, she, lacking any discernible musical talent, was part of the administrative staff. How she had managed to weave her way into the lives of the actual musically gifted faculty members was beyond him.

     ‘Right, sure, those details don’t matter, Sielo,’ Aoife waved him off dismissively, ‘anyway, I think it’d be downright ridiculous for you not to come. Mariam would be heartbroken.’

     As she spoke, Sielo couldn’t help but wonder when he would finally be blessed to receive a tacky email from Aoife regarding her own farewell party. It would surely be the kind of party that he’d relish attending.

     ‘I don’t gather that Mariam would be all that disheartened in my absence,’ Sielo said.

     ‘Don’t be dismissive. Mariam put in the hard work, and she deserves to have everyone there to celebrate her,’ Aoife said. ‘For God’s sake, show a bit of enthusiasm, will you? Just for once.’

     Sielo’s eyes fixated to the right side of his office where Aoife leaned against a filing cabinet with her hand placed on its surface. Given that he had disinfected his entire office only several hours prior to this riveting encounter, it was galling to him that she would constitute her nuisance in his newly spotless space. He debated telling her to remove her hand, to step away from the cabinet entirely and immediately, but that would only feed into whatever trivial game she was playing. Instead, he exhaled slowly, controlled, and leveled her with a look that was meant to convey both his disapproval and his unwillingness to engage.

     ‘I couldn’t care less to celebrate,’ Sielo said, tilting his head and taunting. ‘How can you not see how childish this is?’

     ‘Why do you always have to be so negative?’ Aoife anxiously picked at her fingernails. Sielo couldn’t help but roll his eyes.

     ‘Do you really think that my not being there will occupy Mariam’s mind for the entire night?’ Sielo said. ‘She won’t even notice my absence. So you go. Don’t worry about me.’

       Aoife remained expressionless, which he found both grating and oddly satisfying. It felt like confirmation of her inability to grasp the subtleties of his own words.

       ‘You’re impossible to deal with.’ She stormed over to him, grabbed his briefcase, and began packing it, shoving in his laptop, piano textbooks, and crumpling up sheets of music to stuff into the bag.

        ‘Leave my things alone,’ Sielo tried to stop her. ‘You’re embarrassing yourself.’

       ‘No, you’re the one embarrassing yourself,’ Aoife said. ‘Just come. It won’t kill you. And, frankly, I can’t imagine you have anything better to do tonight anyway.’

       Sielo took offence to that ridiculous statement, as though his entire life didn’t revolve around this absolute nonsense. But then, he couldn’t help but find the concept of farewell parties amusing; this thought instantly made him reconsider attending it. He now viewed the party with an unusual sense of curiosity, seeing it less as an event to participate in and more as a ridiculous spectacle to bear witness. Maybe something to observe for its absurdity. Watching Aoife act in her sycophantic ways just to make up for all she lacked in comparison to the rest of the faculty would be entertainment in itself. Sielo imagined himself standing apart, watching his coworkers' farewells and fake cries with total indifference, detached from any real sentiment. On the spur of the moment, all this excited him.

       ‘Right. Well, I changed my mind now. Let’s go, then,’ Sielo said. ‘If we must.’

       Sielo's annoyance was accentuated by the arrogant smile on Aoife's face. He was bothered by the high probability that she might have mistakenly believed that her ineffective persuasion had actually been successful.

      As they traversed the city's lively streets en route to the bar together, the setting sun illuminated their figures from behind. Sielo observed the irritating way in which Aoife walked, swinging her arms around. He had never seen someone walk in a manner so jarringly before. Aoife bombarded him with such incongruous questions that he forgot what they were immediately. Instead, his mind wandered onto a piece he’d been stuck working on for months on end. He was enraptured by how he could gradually shape the piece in a way that draws out tension until it’s able to reach its emotional peak. He could almost hear it in his head, the conquering intensity, the notes rising and falling. But Aoife’s voice cut through and he didn’t catch the words this time, either.

      ‘Enough,’ he said, halting his steps abruptly. ‘Can you just be quiet?’

     Aoife, unfazed, continued to talk, as though his words hadn’t registered. Surrounded by a multitude of strangers walking through the city, some ascending and others descending, Sielo thought about the various destinations they might be headed to. He considered slipping away, leaving Aofie mid-sentence, and letting the crowd engulf him.

𝆒

      Aoife hurried to the table where the other faculty members were seated, greeting them with such intense enthusiasm that seemed exceedingly performative—even for her. She radiated with such self-importance that it was unbearable for one to witness. It was as if her presence at this gathering was some monumental event, like the entire bar should stop, rise, and maybe applaud her entrance. Sielo doubted anyone had ever even cared about her existence, but Aoife was always completely oblivious to any disinterest around her anyway. She gallivanted around the space, greeting the other faculty members with embraces.

      Sielo, on the other hand, stood back, quietly observing. He glanced at the outside terrace where the party was situated.The tables were arranged symmetrically, all facing the same direction, reminiscent of a café in Paris. The view of the Parliament building dominated the skyline. Every patron in the bar clutched a glass of wine, and Sielo figured that all were indulging in trivial manners.

     He greeted Mariam and took the only empty seat. Christian, one of the leading conductors at the school, was seated to his left. Ava, a vocal coach, was on his right. Both were engaged in a lively conversation regarding Mariam's new role at Juilliard, but Sielo wasn’t listening. Now that he was actually at the farewell party, he couldn’t shake the feeling that he was stuck. It was like a pianist endlessly repeating a simple arpeggio, trapped in the same loop and unable to break free.

    Sielo felt his phone vibrate from his pocket and pulled it out. The screen illuminated with a message under the contact name J. He began composing his reply, but before he could finish, Ava's immediate interruption snapped him out of his asociality and back to reality.

      ‘Sielo, you must be so excited for Mariam,’ she said. ‘How impressive it is that she’s moving to New York for Juilliard.’

      ‘Yeah, Sielo couldn’t be happier, I’m sure,’ Aoife chimed in, responding on his behalf, of course.

       His mind, though, was far from the topic of Mariam’s impending departure. It aggravated him that Aoife had spoken on his behalf, but he decided to be polite, for once.

       ‘I suppose it’s a good opportunity,’ Sielo said.

      Aoife, ever eager to insert herself into the conversation more, turned towards Sielo again to further interrogate him, in her ostentatious fashion. He oscillated between feelings of contempt towards Aoife and regret for agreeing to attend tonight.

       ‘Don’t you think Mariam has always been one of the best in our department?’ Aoife said. ‘I know you agree with me, Sielo.’

      Don’t tell me whether I agree or not, Sielo thought. He gave Aoife a look, one a little too expressive. He couldn’t help but notice her mustard-yellow cardigan, a colour that clashed as awkwardly as her wide-eyed expression.

        ‘Sure,’ Sielo said. ‘She’s talented.’

        Ava interjected, ‘You don’t sound very convincing, Sielo.’

     Sielo shifted uncomfortably in his seat, pulling his black turtleneck tighter around his neck and adjusting his glasses, incredulous that he was actually having to engage in this conversation right now.

       ‘No, it’s not that,’ Sielo said. ‘It’s just that there’s always so much fuss around these things. Really, it’s just another job, and in just another city.’

        Mariam, who had been quietly sipping her glass of pinot gris, cocked an eyebrow at him.

       ‘I’m glad you think so highly of my achievement, Sielo,’ she said, rolling her eyes.

       ‘Sorry,’ Sielo shrugged. ‘I’ve just never really been the type to make a big deal out of these things.’

       A charcuterie board sat before Sielo, which he only just noticed. He picked up a cracker, debating whether to spread fig jam or quince paste on it, all the while the tension continued to build at the table.

        Aoife jumped in once again, her voice rising a little, defending Mariam as if she were her fervent lover.

        ‘Sielo, for God’s sake,’ she said. ‘Does everything have to be so bloody bleak with you? Can’t you just celebrate something for once?’

        Before Sielo could respond, Harry, one of the composition instructors, who had been quietly listening from the far end of the table, interjected.

      ‘It’s not even that. It's also about recognising hard work. I mean, look at the state of the world, all this chaos, and people are still able to make great things happen,’ Harry said sternly. ‘It’s honestly so empowering. Perhaps you’re just uninspired, Sielo. Or covetous.’

       Sielo’s eyes flicked over to Harry, and he laughed derisively. Harry was the type of person who always believed his thoughts were so profound, but in reality, he would just patronise. This wasn’t the first time Sielo had daydreamed about watching him be carted off to the guillotine as if he were a victim of the French Revolution.

       ‘Right, sure. Interesting take, Harry.’ Sielo said, taking a sip of his wine. ‘Maybe people just need distractions from their actual problems. I mean, it's easy to make a career out of playing the victim or selling some inspiring narrative. This is all so performative.’ 

       Harry’s face reddened, and he straightened up in his seat.

       ‘Are you saying life is meaningless, then?’

      That’s not even close to what I said, but sure, Sielo thought. It was as if Harry just discovered the philosophy of nihilism and the world had to be knownst to it.

      ‘Not at all,’ Sielo’s tone was suddenly more detached. ‘What I’m actually saying here is that most of what people latch onto in life is only an illusion. You moving to New York will just be a self-indulgent little chapter in your own fairy tale. You’ll continue being a pawn in the chess game of capitalism. Just like the rest of us.’

     Mariam stood up and went to the bathroom. Aoife followed her like she was her knight in shining armour. Christian shot Sielo a glance, his voice lowered.

      ‘Bit of a heavy take for a farewell party, don’t you think?’ Christian said, straightening himself up and finishing the last of his wine. He signalled to the waiter to pour more.

      Sielo scorned. ‘Someone has to point out how shallow and surface-level this all is.’

     Christian looked away. Sielo didn’t expect much else from him anyway. He had always been the type to mumble under his breath or offer blunt remarks that always carried such little weight. They had fucked a few times earlier in the year but Sielo quickly ended it, finding him both boring and impenetrable. Since then, Christian had barely been able to make small talk, yet tonight, out of nowhere, he seemed extremely willing to offer his thoughts vociferously.

       Ava sighed, rubbing her temples. ‘Sielo, we’re not trying to solve the world’s problems right now. This conversation isn’t productive at all,’ she said. ‘Let's change the topic. Just have a drink and relax.’

      Sielo’s jaw tightened at her dismissal. He hated how easily she undermined him. He could now feel the discomfort spreading among the others, but he didn’t care. Alienating himself from the group wasn’t new for him.

       Harry sloshed his glass of red wine around like some sort of connoisseur and took a deep breath, exhaling through his mouth. That’s disgusting, Sielo thought.

      ‘I’ll just finish off by saying that we have all worked hard to get where we are,’ Harry said. ‘Instead of tearing others down, let us celebrate our successes.’

        Not Aoife, Sielo thought, stifling a laugh.

        ‘I don’t see what’s amusing,’ Harry snapped. ‘You’re just pretentious. I’ve always thought so.’

      ‘I don’t care what you think, your opinion doesn’t matter to me,’ Sielo shot back. ‘There’s no nuance in your words, only a reductionist view of something far more complex.’

         ‘See? You can’t have a conversation without acting like we’re beneath you,’ Harry said. ‘Don’t know why you think you’re so fucking superior.’

         ‘Forgive me for not finding joy in pretending everything is fine,’ Sielo said. ‘That’s clearly your thing, Harry, but it’s not mine.’

         Harry was taken aback by the bluntness of Sielo’s words. He threw his hands out in an exaggerated motion, his body turning sharply to the side and he grunted. What a child, Sielo thought. The tension at the table thickened. Christian shifted uncomfortably, his grip tightening around his glass.

         ‘Perhaps I should leave,’ Sielo said, standing abruptly. His chair scraped loudly against the floor.

         ‘Perhaps you should,’ Christian said.

         ‘Okay,’ Sielo said before turning around and walking away. Christian’s eyes followed his retreating figure.

Act II

As Sielo walked through the hotel lobby, he glanced at his phone, finding messages from both Aoife and Christian:

Aoife: That was so unbecoming of you. What a way to ruin the wonderful farewell party I planned.

Christian: Do you always have to be so harsh? I might be “boring,” but at least I’m not sanctimonious.

     Without hesitation, Sielo blocked Aoife’s number. Why he hadn’t done that sooner, he couldn’t quite understand. He didn’t bother replying to Christian. He wasn’t going to entertain Christian trying to match his intellect.

       As Sielo approached the front desk, a young woman with brunette hair and oval-shaped glasses looked up from her computer and smiled at him. Her expression was polite enough—it was obvious that she had perfected her smile through countless interactions and could now deliver it without really thinking. Sielo got the sense she was just doing her job and wasn’t particularly invested in this encounter. But then again, neither was he, and he was relieved that their exchange was so devoid of effort.

      ‘How may I assist you?’ the young woman asked.

      Sielo glanced at her name badge: Amelie. The same name as my mother, he thought.

                ‘I’m here to pick up a room key,’ he said. ‘The reservation is under Gabriel.’

    The receptionist typed quickly on her computer. Her eyes flicked up at him once, then back to the screen. She grabbed the keycard from the drawer and slid it across the desk.

      ‘Here you go. Room 1703,’ she said. ‘Enjoy your stay.’

     Sielo nodded, taking the key. She didn’t ask for identification, nor did she verify if the name on the reservation matched his. It rather impressed him how little she bothered.

     He made his way to the elevator, pressing the button. The soft ding echoed in the otherwise quiet lobby. As the doors slid open, he stepped inside and noticed an oddly paired couple already occupying the space. They must have come up from the basement level car park. The man looked to be in his late thirties, dressed in a sharp dark suit that screamed corporate. Beside him stood the woman, her blonde hair in a ponytail; she couldn’t have been older than twenty-one. Sielo immediately sensed the dynamic between them and couldn’t help but notice how it mirrored what he was about to walk into himself. He was already accustomed to these same patterns.

      As the elevator began its ascent, the couple’s conversation faded into the background as Sielo's mind drifted. The elevator dinged again and Sielo stepped out onto the 17th floor. He found the room, keycard in hand, and slid it into the lock. The light above the door handle flashed green as it clicked open. Inside, he immediately noticed the man at the far end of the bed, loosening his cuffs and slipping off his loafers.

 𝆒

‘You’re late,’ the man said, slightly accusatory.

     ‘I know,’ Sielo said. ‘Got dragged into some ridiculous work thing.’

     Sielo stood there for a moment, observing the man silently.

     ‘Well, come on,’ he gestured towards the bed next to him, ‘sit down.’

     The hotel room the man had chosen this time was neat and minimalist. Sielo sat beside him on the large bed; the white sheets contrasted with the dark wood furniture. The man was tall and in his early forties. His dark brown hair was messy, but his suit was impeccably polished. He was a dissonant chord, Sielo thought. He presented himself with quiet authority, with eyes too sharp and too calculating, which felt antagonising to Sielo.

     ‘So,’ the man began, glancing sideways at him, ‘did the alias Gabriel work for you?’

     ‘Sure,’ Sielo said. ‘Though I don’t get why it couldn’t be under your real name. Julian.’

    ‘Quiet,’ Julian hushed, looking around as if he was expecting someone to just burst through the door. ‘Don’t say my name out loud. We can't risk getting caught.’

     ‘You’re not a celebrity,’ Sielo said. ‘You just work in finance. No one here knows or cares who you are.’

     Julian laughed. ‘You’re funny,’ he said. But Sielo wasn’t joking.

     He ran his hands through Sielo’s black curls, removing his glasses for him in the process. Sielo didn’t move; he was rigid. This was the rare moment when he didn't care to have control.

    ‘Come on,’ Julian pointed down to the floor as he began unbuttoning his pants. ‘Get on your knees.’

   Rather than obeying his orders, Sielo’s eyes darted to the desk opposite the bed. There sat one of those standard hotel Bibles, instead of in its usual place tucked in the bedside drawer. Had Julian been reading it while he waited for him? The irony, he thought.

    ‘Look,’ Sielo said, his voice monotonous. ‘I can’t be bothered with that today. Can you just fuck me instead?’

 𝆒

  Julian went into the bathroom to shower, leaving his phone on the bed. When he returned, Sielo was scrolling through it.

    ‘What are you doing on my phone?’ Julian asked, tying the towel around his waist.

    ‘Just checking in on what your wife and children are up to,’ Sielo smirked.

    ‘Don’t,’ Julian’s voice strained.

     He went to reach for his phone, but Sielo effortlessly pulled it away, holding it just out of reach with an impish grin. He took pleasure in this control he exerted over Julian.

    ‘Relax,’ Sielo said. ‘You know I wouldn’t ever say anything. This is just too entertaining for me.’

    Julian’s hands clenched at his sides, standing at the foot of the bed.

    ‘Are you a sadist?’ Julian asked.

    ‘Possibly,’ Sielo said, leaning back against the headboard. ‘What if I came over for family dinner one night?’

    ‘No,’ Julian’s answer was immediate. He laughed at Sielo’s witticism.

   Sielo’s eyes were still on Julian’s phone, reading his text messages. Julian climbed back onto the bed and kissed him on the top of his head. So paternal, Sielo thought.

   ‘Can’t help yourself?’ Julian said. ‘Being so nosy.’

    ‘Right,’ Sielo said, not looking up from the phone.

    ‘Curiosity did kill the cat, you know,’ Julian said.

    ‘Didn’t realise you were so well versed in idioms,’ Sielo mocked and went back to scrolling.

    Julian went back to playing with Sielo’s hair, absent-mindedly twirling his curls like a child soothing themself. He had an inattentive disposition to him.

    ‘Wait, did you know you were supposed to pick up flea treatment for your cat today?’ Sielo said, snarling. ‘You know, instead of fucking someone fifteen years younger than you.’

    ‘Oh, I forgot,’ Julian said, dropping his towel. ‘Speaking of, can I fuck you again?’

    ‘No,’ Sielo said, his eyes drifting to Julian’s blazer resting on the armchair. ‘But can I iron that? It’s so wrinkly.’

    ‘Now that’ll make my wife suspicious,’ Julian said.

    Julian stood near the window, stark naked still, staring out. The city lights were shimmering in the night sky.

    ‘When are you going to tell her about your adulteries with men?’ Sielo asked, casually grabbing a cigarette from the pack on the bedside table.

    ‘I’m not telling her,’ Julian snapped, turning around to face Sielo. ‘And I don’t think it’s any of your business.’

    ‘I’m just curious when you will stop lying to yourself and your family,’ Sielo said, lighting the cigarette.

    ‘Like I said, it’s none of your business.’

    ‘Don’t get upset with me,’ Sielo took a slow drag and exhaled. ‘I find it endearing when you pretend you’re fulfilled with your life.’

    ‘You’re a real piece of work, you know that?’ Julian’s posture became rigid. ‘Tell me why I even waste my time with you.’

    Sielo didn’t look up. ‘Well, I am your piece of work, aren’t I?’ he  laughed, flicking ash into an empty glass on the bedside table. ‘Since I know you like to consider me your property.’

    ‘Do you mind not doing that here?’ Julian asked, shoulders tensing. ‘The smoke alarm will go off.’

    ‘Je vais faire ce que je veux,’ Sielo replied, his voice cutting like silk while he took another drag. He rose from the bed, slipping into his briefs.

    ‘You think you’re better than me?’

    Sielo gave a deliberate shrug. ‘Maybe,’ he said.

    Julian frowned. ‘You’re acting like a child,’ he said as he snatched the cigarette from Sielo’s fingers and stubbed it out.

    ‘Right, and you’re the forty-two-year-old with a wife and children,’ Sielo said, raising his voice now, taking a step closer to Julian. ‘Sneaking around, fucking a twenty-seven-year-old.’

    Julian’s jaw clenched. ‘I’m not the only one participating in this,’ he shot back.

    ‘Correct,’ Sielo said with a gentle smile that did not reach his eyes. ‘Except I’m not the married one here, am I? I’m not cheating on anyone. You are.’

   ‘But you couldn’t even care less about the family you’re tearing apart here,’ Julian said, pacing closer to Sielo now.

   ‘The family I’m tearing apart?’ Sielo scoffed, his tone turned mocking, expressed with contempt and derision. ‘Take some accountability, why don’t you?’ 

    Sielo now faced Julian, his dark eyes locked on him as if he were a predator and Julian the prey. The roles possibly reversed this time.

    ‘Fuck you,’ Julian scorned.

    Sielo turned sharply and stalked to the minibar. He pulled out a bottle of champagne and popped the cork. The champagne foamed over, spilling onto the carpet.

    ‘That’s not complimentary,’ Julian said. ‘Grow up.’

    Sielo took a swig straight from the bottle, completely ignoring him.

    ‘Don’t act like you can’t afford it.’

    ‘Put it down,’ Julian demanded, stepping closer.

    Sielo glanced at him and smirked before hurling the bottle at the wall. It shattered, glass scattering everywhere across the floor.

    ‘You’re a sociopath,’ Julian growled.

    ‘Yeah, right,’ Sielo said, swaying slightly, sneering. ‘Well, at least I know what I am. When are you going to admit what you are?’

    ‘What the hell does that mean?’ Julian  crossed his arms.

    Sielo’s grin widened. ‘You’re a fucking faggot,’ he said, laughing out loud.

   Julian’s hand shot out, striking Sielo hard across the face. Sielo fell to his knees, blood running down his lip and splattering onto the carpet. He touched his cheek, then glanced up at Julian, a faint smile on his face, a tear falling down his cheek.

    ‘That’s the beauty of weak men like you, Julian,’ Sielo wiped the blood from his lip. ‘You’ll hurt people instead of admitting what you really are.’

    Julian stood over Sielo, frozen and towering above, staring at him, his breathing hard and shallow. Then he crouched down, grabbing Sielo’s chin and jerking his head back. Sielo’s lips parted as Julian shoved two fingers into his mouth, measured and deliberate. He pulled them out slowly, the blood smeared across Sielo’s lips, and licked it off his fingers.

     ‘Clean up this mess,’ Julian said, rising to his feet. ‘Then get the fuck out.’

     Julian turned, grabbing his clothes as he walked towards the bathroom, leaving Sielo hunched over on the floor, bloodied and broken.

Act III

Sielo’s apartment felt colder than usual. The noise of the city was gone, but his mind was cacophonous. He went straight to the kitchen, washed the blood off his face, and opened a bottle of cabernet sauvignon. At this juncture, it seemed more like a habit than a desire. Or maybe he just wanted to feel something.

     Sitting on the couch, Sielo turned on the lamp beside him. He stared at the wall. He didn’t own a television, nor did he feel inclined to pick up a novel. Alternatively, he reached into his briefcase on the armchair, and pulled out the sheet of music he’d been working on. He studied the notes, willing them to coalesce into coherence, but his mind refused to cooperate.

     Rain started drumming on the window, and Sielo’s thoughts shifted to Aoife. Her childish need for validation, her incessant chatter. Maybe her visa was expiring soon, and he wouldn’t have to see her again. Then there was his paramour Julian. Who made him feel like a senseless child again. Who struck at him, cruel and careless. It always defeated Sielo, and he knew of this fact. He was smart enough to see it for what it was, an outward expression of Julian’s inner conflict. But why that didn’t soften the sting, Sielo didn’t know. Subsequently a sudden knock at the door pulled him from his thoughts. He downed the rest of his glass of wine and stood. Sielo peered through the peephole to see who was visiting at this odd hour. At first, he wondered if Julian might be behind the door but then remembered that his place of residence was unbeknownst to him. Standing in the hallway, drenched and adorned in a rain jacket, was a familiar figure folding up a navy umbrella.

 𝆒

      ‘What are you doing here?’ Sielo asked, opening the door.

      Christian, sharp and composed, gave a slight smile.

      ‘Hello to you too. Can I come in?’

      Sielo hesitated but stepped to the side. Christian took off his raincoat as he entered, and Sielo nodded at the coat rack. Christian smirked faintly.

     ‘This isn’t my first time here,’ he said, trying to humour him. Unsuccessful, though, as Sielo didn’t respond, his face impassive. The men just stood there awkwardly.

     ‘May I?’ Christian gestured towards the velvet lounge chair.

     ‘Sure, go ahead,’ Sielo said.

      Christian’s eyes landed on Sielo’s swollen face.

      ‘What the hell happened to you?’

      ‘Don’t worry about it,’ Sielo said, leaning against the couch’s armrest.

      ‘Did you do this to yourself?’ Christian pressed.

      ‘No.’

       Christian leant forward, resting his elbows on his knees. His gaze dropped to the empty wine glass on the coffee table.

       ‘Right,’ he said. ‘So this is just a normal night for you then.’

       Sielo ignored him. ‘Did you want me to pour you a glass?’

       Minutes later, Sielo returned from the kitchen with a glass for Christian and a refilled one for himself. The two men now clutched their respective glasses of red. The silence was lengthy, uncomfortable and harsh.

      ‘Why are you here?’ Sielo asked.

      ‘I couldn't stop thinking about tonight,’ Christian said. ‘Mariam’s farewell party. That was intense. Even for you.’

     Sielo said nothing, looking down, picking at his fingernails as if he was still an anxious adolescent. Christian stood up and his shadow was long across the floor.

      ‘Aoife has been spamming me with messages,’ Christian said. ‘For fuck’s sake, she’s worried sick about you.’

      ‘Sounds like her problem,’ Sielo said. ‘Why are you telling me this?’

      ‘Because I’m trying to ascertain what is going on with you,’ Christian’s eyes tried to meet his. ‘But you won’t let me.’

      ‘Have you not figured it out? I don’t care about you,’ Sielo said. ‘I can’t comprehend why you keep trying when I’ve made it abundantly clear I’m not interested in you.’

       Rain streaked the glass, distorting the city lights as Christian paced back and forth, frustration radiating from every step.

       ‘Listen, Sielo. I’m not here for a fuck. I’m here as a friend, to see if you’re okay,’ Christian said. ‘Why are you like this?’

       ‘Well, it’d been established tonight that I’m a sociopath,’ Sielo took a sip of his wine. ‘So maybe that’s the answer to your question.’

       Christian turned around, his expression a volatile mix of disbelief and exasperation.

       ‘You’re just going to keep pushing everyone who cares about you away,’ he said. ‘Don't you see what you’re doing to yourself?’

       ‘You don't know anything about me,’ Sielo said.

       ‘Well, I'm trying to, which is more than what you deserve right now,’ Christian said. ‘All I want is to help, but you won’t let anyone in.’

        ‘I don't need your help,’ Sielo said, his voice threatening. ‘Or anyone’s.’

        Christian crossed the room in three strides. He stopped inches from Sielo. The veins in his neck pulsed.

      ‘You can't even see how far gone you are, can you?’ Christian said. ‘You’re not special. You’re broken just like everyone else. But you’re too fuck-ing proud to admit it.’

       Hostile movements sent Sielo abruptly to his feet, nearly tipping his wine glass.

       ‘So you have come here just to lecture me.’

       ‘You’re so afraid of being seen for who you really are that you push everyone away.’

       ‘And what am I, then? Since you supposedly can read people so well,’ Sielo said.

       ‘You're a misanthropist,’ Christian said. ‘You need treatment.’

       The tension in Sielo’s frame was palpable and he began laughing.

      ‘Do you see how condescending this saviour complex of yours is?’ Sielo said. ‘Sounds like an internal projection from within, which is just very unbecoming.’

       Christian’s jaw tightened, his breath shallow.

       ‘Well, you do need saving,’ he said. ‘You ruin everything because you’re scared and selfish.’

       ‘How about you get out,’ Sielo stepped forward.

      ‘Make me.’ Christian shot back, his jaw tightening as his eyes locked with Sielo’s. Sielo grabbed Christian by the collar, holding him for a moment before kissing him, hard and unrelenting. Christian froze, then shoved him back, only to pull him closer again, their mouths crashing together. It wasn’t tender, nor was it gentle. But neither was their relationship. The rain pelted against the window. They stumbled, pressing against the wall, Christian pinned against Sielo. Christian suddenly pulled away, trembling. Sielo stared at him, defiant yet empty.

       ‘This is fucked up,’ Christian said.

       ‘Why are you still here then?’

      ‘Excellent question,’ Christian said, as he ran a hand through his damp hair. He grabbed his jacket and umbrella. ‘I'm done. Enjoy this prison of self-pity you’ve locked yourself into.’

       Christian bolted out, slamming the door behind him. Sielo’s mind descended into a heavy thunderstorm. And so did the rain outside.

 𝆒

     Sielo staggered into the drawing room. The grand piano perched in the centre like an altar, waiting. His mind raced, stuck on what had just happened with Christian. Would he ever speak to him again? The question masticated his thoughts. He paced back and forth, another glass of red in his hand. He scratched his neck, and sweat clung to his skin. His fingers twitched, restless and compulsive. Finishing his wine, he set the glass aside. His eyes drifted to the piano and he sat down on the bench, finding the keys almost instinctively. He looked fearful, his eyes wider than ever. The piano was the only thing in the world that ever made sense to him but there was still a shadow of doubt that crossed his face as he sat before it. The storm outside raged, and his fingers pressed down, beginning to move. It was slow at first, each note soft and careful. The sound barely rose above the thunder. His hands moved on their own and the melody took shape. It was delicate but unsteady. The rhythm shifted and his breath froze in his throat. The storm grew louder and harsher, and so did the music. The lights overhead were dim and blue, the kind of blue that brimmed with melancholy and longing. His body tensed as the dissonance swelled, as the tension whirled inside him. It climbed, spiraling upward. His gaze fell on the large mirror in front of him. His own reflection held him captive. Sharp, angular features. Somber eyes. Lips that had tasted too much. A face others admired. A face others coveted. A face that still throbbed from Julian’s strike. The music swelled around him, drowning thought, drowning everything. He rose abruptly, planting himself on the lid of the piano. He laid on his back, his right hand playing the keys. His left elbow accidentally knocked the open chessboard on the edge. It fell, scattering pieces across the floor. A black bishop cracked in half. Still, his right hand kept playing. He didn’t stop. He couldn’t stop. The music had a hold on him now, relentless, pulling him under. His fingers slipped. His breath came unsteady, fogging his glasses. He tore them off, tossing them aside. He stared at himself again in the mirror. Watching. Waiting. His left hand trembled as it moved to his pants, unbuttoning them slowly. He stroked himself while his right hand stayed on the piano, playing a cascade of notes. They rose and fell with his breath. With his pulse. The music became increasingly frantic. It filled him. It filled the room. It pressed against the walls like it could tear them down. Harder. Faster. The crescendo began. It was cathartic. It was beautiful. It blurred both pain and pleasure. A violent surge of sound and feeling. It rose together. Uncontainable. His reflection held him captive. This was about control. About the fleeting illusion of it. His left hand moved in time with his cock. It synced with the notes. The crescendo grew harsher, unstoppable. As the despair swallowed him whole. It peaked. A terrorising rush. Beauty and destruction in the same breath. He shuddered. His thoughts blurred. Then the music stopped. The silence fast and aggressive. His body jerked and he came. His fingers rested on the keys, now still. He collapsed forward, his head sinking into the piano’s surface. The room around him was heavy, oppressive. And the pieces of his life laid scattered, shattered. Like the bishop on the floor. The once-beautiful piece now broken and discarded. He closed his eyes. He let it all consume him. The crescendo was over. Now came the fall.

The End

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