James checked the time.
11:46 PM
He was sitting in his chair, sketchbook on his lap, awaiting the arrival of his neighbour. He heard the door of the next apartment over slam shut, and listened to scuffling through the thin dividing wall.
His neighbour was the most beautiful man James had ever heard. He had no way of knowing how beautiful he looked, as they had never seen each other's faces, but the music he played was incredible, his voice travelled like silk through their wall, wrapping around James.
Sometimes James would dance to the music, swaying in his chair or slow dancing by himself. But usually James just sat and listened, with his book.
James assumed whatever job his neighbour had ended at eleven thirty, or maybe even eleven. James liked to imagine the faceless man catching the bus home, as he had never seen a car in his allocated garage.
Maybe he composed his music as he waited for his stop, or perhaps he read a book.
James liked to imagine his mysterious neighbour carrying a thick journal at all times. A tome that weighed a million pounds. Scrap pieces of paper sticking out from every angle, every page scrawled with breathtaking poems, or messy french writing. Sheet music tucked under the first page, yellowed and torn after years of use.
There was a bus that arrived outside their apartment building at 11:44 PM every night. James would try to catch a peek of the figure that left the bus, waving his thanks to the driver, but all he could make out of the darkness was a slender figure, with a heavy looking bag over their shoulder.
Every day except for Sundays, this figure gets off the bus, and enters their building. James hears their footsteps padding outside his door, and then hearing his neighbours own door slamming shut. James would sit under the warm light of his lamp, waiting for the music to start.
At 11:50 PM on the dot, every night excluding Sundays, James would smile and begin to sketch as the gentle notes of piano begin, and a sickeningly sweet voice calling out to the dishevelled man in soft French, drawing him in to the point of no return.
He had eventually accumulated hundreds of drawings of lean, black haired men, imagining that they were his neighbour. None of his portraits felt quite right, so he tried again, each night to the sound of gorgeous music.
—
Regulus shuffled onto the bus, his journal weighing down his bag. He pulled it out, taking a seat at the back. He pulled his sheet music out, careful not to rip the fragile paper as he shuffled through the pages. He came across a page with only piano, no lyrics, that he had written weeks ago in a sleepless haze.
As he read through the notes, lyrics came to him, simple but quality. In most of his original music, he tried to slip in the french word for I like.
It wasn’t exactly by design, moreso a word he instinctively wrote down in between bars, but this time he wrote it more times than he ever had before. The reason Regulus wrote this word wasn’t because he particularly liked it, but because it was extraordinarily close to the name of his neighbour.
Regulus had seen his neighbours face a number of times. Every night, when Regulus stepped off the bus he saw James watching him through the window, glasses illuminated under the soft light of a lamp. He was the owner of one of most beautifully kind faces Regulus had ever seen.
Regulus had found out his name when, one sunday night, James had had some friends over. He had realised when three voices, none of which he recognised as his neighbours, chanted the name James, over and over.
The name and face matched perfectly, and regulus had smiled n the armchair next to his piano.
Each time Regulus closed his door after work, he could hear James padding to the chair Regulus knew was by their shared wall. He imagined him with a book, or a pad filled with drawings, listening to the music Regulus made.
So, as he wrote words to match his music, he imagined himself matching the swell of the music with his voice, calling out James’ name underneath the french words.
So, as he wrote, he thought about James listening, despite not knowing what Regulus was saying, and imagined that his neighbour may enjoy hearing Regulus sing something he could understand.
And so he wrote.
J’aime.
J’aime.
J’aime.
I like.
I like.
I like.
—
Tonight, James settled in his chair as the music began once again. One of his favourite things about his neighbour singing in french was that he often heard his name.
It wasn’t his name, exactly, but it was similar. A lot of the songs, James assumed, were love songs, as he often heard the man next door sing the word j’aime.
James smiled every time, as he imagined accented lips curling around the word, so close to the name James responded to instinctively.
Funnily enough, tonight the song centred around that word.
At the apex of the song, the piano heightened, and his neighbour was almost shouting the word.
J’aime.
J’aime.
J’aime.
I like.
I like.
I like.
The emotion laced with the simple words increased as James heard, for the first time, English leaving the accepted lips.
James dropped his pencil.
The piano got quieter, the siren’s voice quieting to a whisper in harsh contrast to James’s heart, which was pounding louder than the piano.
James felt himself moving.
He wasn’t sure why exactly he was moving, but indeed he was as he stepped towards his door, the sketchbook falling to the ground.
James still heard the sound of piano from the other apartment, getting quieter as he moved away from the wall, then louder as he opened his door and stepped into the hallway. As if he was in a trance, he walked towards the door from which he could hear the music escaping.
He raised his hand. Knocked. Listened as the piano paused, then soft footsteps made their way to the door. The handle twisted, and only as it did, did James realise what he was doing.
The door swung open before James could run, and-
Oh.
James didn't think that he was ever going to breathe again.
Possibly the most beautiful man he had ever seen in his life stood in front of him, questioning smile on his face.
“Hello?”
James almost fainted after hearing the man speak for the first time.
“Woah,” He breathed.
“James? Hello?” James smiled when he heard his name.
“My name. How- how do you know my name? What's your name? You- you are- woah.”
“Would you like to come in? You look as though you are going to pass out.”
Regulus had the beginnings of a blush, and a soft smirk as he led James inside.
“Would you like a cup of tea?” Regulus asked.
James had settled in a dark green armchair next to Regulus’ piano, very similar to James’ own armchair next door.
“Yes, please. One milk and three sugars.” James grinned at his neighbour, who had introduced himself as Regulus.
The pianist turned, slowly.
“Three? Three sugars?”
“I have a sweet tooth.” James smiled sheepishly.
Despite the obvious judgement, Regulus mixed three teaspoons into the hot liquid, and passed it over to James, returning with his own mug of black tea.
He curled up in an armchair, pulling his socked feet underneath him.
“So, neighbour, what brings you here?”
James’ struggled to stay civil as Regulus’ subtle accent.
“Your music.” He managed to say.
“My music?” Regulus raised an eyebrow.
“It’s beautiful, quite like you, but I- I was listening tonight, because I always listen, at eleven fifty every night, but you kept saying my name, and then you were singing in English, and then my legs were moving here.”
Regulus regarded him. “Technically, I wasn't saying your name. I was simply speaking French.”
James looked like a balloon deflating.
“I know, but I feel things quite easily you see, my mum always said my heart was three times too big.”
“That makes sense.”
“It does, doesn't it?” James’ lips curled upward once again.
“Would you like to know a secret, James?”
The dishevelled man ran his hands through his hair and nodded eagerly.
“I was singing your name.”
James felt his stomach swoop. He didn’t know why he had ever even attempted drawing Regulus, because the man's face put every drawing to ever exist to shame.
“My name? Why?”
“Yes, your name. And I would say I was singing it for the same reason I sing for you every night.” Regulus smiled, very softly.
“I sing for you because you are quite handsome, and if I hadn’t just met you properly ten minutes ago, I would have fallen in love with you by now.”
And oh if James wasn’t about to faint before, he definitely was now.
“Can you- Um, would you maybe play for me?”
James said it so quietly it was almost a whisper.
Surprisingly, Regulus nodded, placed his much on the coffee table, and moved to his piano.
Something wasn’t quite right, though, and as soon as James realised what it was, he jumped out of his seat and ran out of the apartment.
His brain was moving so fast he could keep up and he yanked open his door and fell into his apartment, frantically looking for his sketchpad. When he saw it on the floor, James dove to grab it, before turning around and sprinting back into the hallway.
He stumbled through Regulus’ still open door, and ran inside.
James grinned brighter than before, holding up his book.
“Now I'm ready.”
James sat back in the green armchair, watching as Regulus’ face morphed from extreme confusion to a happy smile.
As he began to play, James pulled a pencil out from between the pages of his book.
For the first time since he started drawing his neighbour, the picture was a perfect likeness.