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When Bill was a child, his mother had many hobbies like gardening, knitting, and embroidering. Out of all of them, playing the piano was her favorite. When his mother was home and there wasn’t much going on, it was rare to not hear music in the house.
When she played, she always had a serene smile on her face. No matter how stressful her day was, she took solace in playing the instrument. His dad would sometimes hum along quietly from another room or would just sit in the parlor and listen to her music. Sometimes Bill and Georgie would ballroom dance (or, at least, what their child brains thought ballroom dancing was) to the music with each other.
Those were only the rare cases. Usually, the music was nothing more than background noise and Bill tuned it out most of the time. He would barely hear it as he did homework or his chores. Sometimes when he would talk to one of his friends on the phone, he secretly wished his mom would stop playing for a minute so he could hear what the other person was saying.
It wasn’t until Georgie died that Bill realized he took the music for granted.
His mom stopped doing many things after Pennywise killed him. She stopped smiling, laughing, having fun… loving Bill… She also stopped playing the piano. The small, wooden upright piano sat silently in their parlor. The keys were continually hidden under the mahogany fallboard and it became nothing more than an ornament. An ugly reminder of how full of life and… happy their home used to be.
About a year after Georgie’s death, Bill wandered into the parlor in an attempt to satisfy his endless boredom. When your parents don’t pay attention to you and your friends are busy, it’s easy to become bored. He saw the piano and, after a moment of hesitation, sat on the bench and lifted the fallboard. The white and black keys glistened in the sunlight coming through the windows. He dragged his pointer finger along the keys, not yet pressing down on any of them. He placed his thumb on what he remembered his mom calling “middle C” and he pressed it, causing a note to ring from the instrument.
Seconds later he heard fast, angry footsteps until his mother entered the room. She scolded him for being loud and slammed the fallboard shut before ordering him to go to his room. He apologized through tears as he ran to his bedroom, locking the door and burying himself under the covers.
The piano was gone the next day.
Fast forward about thirty years. He fought Pennywise for the second time with his friends. They defeated It and all of the losers lived. When he returned to Derry, he remembered a lot of things. Along with his Pennywise-induced trauma and how his parents treated him, he also remembered how amazing his friends were and his romantic feelings towards one of them. One love confession, two divorces, and a second marriage later, he and Stan were now together.
After being married for an entire year, Bill remembered Stan talking about how he wanted to learn to play an instrument. At that point, Bill remembered the piano. He hated piano music. Hearing it was enough to turn his good mood sour within seconds. Since he saw the opportunity to have good memories associated with the instrument again, he bought a piano for their house.
At this point, they had been married for two and a half years and they had a black baby grand piano in their living room. Stan had been practicing every day, usually after birdwatching, and he was good at it.
“You’re talking to me while driving? Bill, do you have any idea how dangerous-?”
“Eds, calm down. I have an earpiece in. It’s not like I’m driving one handed.”
Bill could hear Eddie sigh in relief. “Thank God you’re smarter than Richie. He won’t even try to hold his phone between his ear and his shoulder. He’ll just drive with one hand on the wheel. That moron is going to get himself killed.”
Bill laughed. “Don't worry, Eddie. Stan and I will make sure to take care of you when you’re a widower.”
“Gee, thanks… Oh, hold on a second.”
Bil could hear Eddie talking with someone else for a minute, their voices faint.
“Sorry, Bill. I have to go. I haven’t given Richie enough attention for, like, five minutes and he’s getting whiney.”
Bill chuckled. “It’s alright. I just pulled into the driveway. I’ll talk to you later.”
“Bye, Bill.”
With that, the call ended and Bill got out of his car.
When he reached the front door, he fumbled with his keys (why did he have so many anyway?) before finally unlocking it. Once he got the door open, he slid his shoes off and hung his keys up on the hook on the wall. This was when he heard a song that made him stop short.
The day Georgie died Bill’s mom was, of course, playing the piano. The song she played was Für Elise. It was a song that used to make the hair on the back of Bill’s neck stand up and force him to cry bitter, angry tears. Since he forgot most of the details about Gorgie’s death after leaving Derry, he never knew why he hated it so much.
Hearing the song now, though, he felt… happy. He felt pure joy in his soul because he knew his husband was home. He knew that the woman whose love was conditional, and faded when Georgie wasn’t around anymore, wasn’t playing the music. The man playing the music was the same man who has loved him since they were children and he always would no matter what.
Bill walked quickly but quietly to their living room, stopping in the doorway.
Stan was sitting at the piano. Bill could see his profile but Stan was so focused on what he was doing, he didn’t notice Bill was standing there. Stan was wearing a light gray, turtleneck sweater and dark wash jeans. The afternoon sunlight coming in through the window caused the ring on his left hand to glimmer. His fingers skimmed effortlessly across the keys and he was staring intently at the sheet music in front of him. His brow was furrowed in concentration but Bill could tell he was enjoying himself.
Bill couldn’t help but feel stupidly happy. He was grateful that Stan loved him so much that he proposed to him and that he played the piano so often that Bill started to love the sound of the instrument again.
When the tears started streaming down his face, Bill started to leave so he could go cry in private. When he took a step back, though, he bumped into the door frame.
Stan stopped mid-song and his lips turned upward into a smile. “Hey, Bill. How was your day?”
When Stan turned toward the doorway, his smile promptly faded and he gazed at Bill in concern.
He stood from the bench and took a cautious step towards his husband. “Hey, are you alright?”
Bill rushed forward and pulled Stan into a hug. Stan made a soft, surprised noise before wrapping his own arms around him. Bill buried his face in Stan’s chest and silently wept. Stan pressed kisses to the crown of Bill’s head, until the tears finally abated.
Bill pulled back and looked up into Stan’s worried eyes. “Sweetie, what happened?”
Bill shook his head, now smiling. “Nothing happened. Those w-were happy tears. Don’t w-w-worry.”
Bill rarely stuttered now. It sometimes returned if he was nervous or extremely emotional.
Stan’s shoulders relaxed and he smiled too. “I’m surprised that I evoked that kind of reaction from you.”
Bill rolled his eyes. “I didn’t say it w-was because of you.”
“What caused it, then?”
“The piano.”
Stan smiled knowingly. “And who was playing it?”
When Bill didn’t answer, Stan chuckled. “Exactly.”
Bill couldn’t hold back the smile that spread across his face as Stan kissed him on the cheek.
The fond smile remained on Stan’s face. “You know that you make me happy too, right?”
Bill felt his eyes water. “Stanley…”
“Don’t ‘Stanley…’ me, William. You’re not the only one that’s allowed to be sentimental.”
Bill let out a wet laugh. “But you’re gonna m-make m-m-me cry again.”
“Then I’ll keep it brief. I love you a lot, you make me happy, and there’s no one else I’d rather be married to.”
Stan pulled Bill’s face forward so he could kiss him on the mouth. Bill placed a hand at the nape of Stan’s neck, trying to deepen it. They pulled away only because they had to breathe.
Stan let go of Bill momentarily and he grabbed the sheet music off of the piano, about to put it back in its proper place.
Bill glanced at the clock, wiping his eyes with the sleeve of his flannel. “Didn’t you just start playing?”
Stan shrugged. “Yeah, but I can do it later.”
Since Stan was one of Bill’s long-time friends, he knew how his parents acted before and after his brother’s death. Since they hardly paid attention to or spent any time with him, Stan seemed to be willing to drop whatever he was doing to do something with him. Bill knew why Stan did it and he was glad that his husband didn’t want to ignore him, but he always felt bad.
“No, you can do it now. Besides, I haven’t written anything yet today. I should probably go ahead and try to get some stuff done.”
Stan eyed him warily. “Are you sure? It can seriously wait until later. It’s not a big deal.”
“I’m positive.”
“Didn’t you write for an entire hour earlier?”
“Actually, I stared at a blank document for an hour. Go ahead and play. I’ll bring my laptop in here and you can be my muse.”
Bill heard Stan cackle as he left the room.
Bill heard the music start before he re-entered the living room with his laptop under his arm. He sat on the couch and typed as Stan played. The writer’s block Bill had earlier dissolved as he listened to the music.
After about an hour, Stan was done playing and Bill had written three thousand words.
After Stan stood up from the piano bench, Bill closed his laptop and opened his arms.
Stan huffed a laugh before sitting on the other end of the couch, the exact opposite of what Bill wanted. He was about to say something, when Stan put an arm under Bill’s legs and wrapped his other arm around his waist. Bill made a surprised sound as Stan pulled him into his lap.
Bill wrapped his arms around Stan’s neck and rolled his eyes. “You could’ve just asked me to do this.”
Stan started running his fingers through Bill’s hair. “It’s more fun this way.”
Bill kissed Stan’s jawline. “So how was your day, honey?”
Stan’s eyes lit up. “Great. I meant to show you this earlier.”
Stan pulled a polaroid out of her pocket and showed it to Bill. It was a picture of a bird sitting on a fence post. The date was written in the bottom right corner of the photo in small, neat writing.
Bill smiled. “That’s really pretty. Is that a spotted dove?”
Stan looked like he was about to cry now. “Yeah, it is. How did you know?”
“I pay attention to you when you talk.”
“I know you do. I just didn’t expect you to remember what I said.”
Bill shrugged. “Well, I do.”
Stan cleared his throat and put the photo on the coffee table. “Anyway, nothing else really happened. How was your day?”
“Pleasant. Nobody recognized me.”
Stan grinned. “You wore the fedora and sunglasses, didn’t you?”
“I mean… yeah. I wanna run errands in peace, okay?”
“I know, I know. I’m not making fun of you. They just look so silly on you because you never wear stuff like that.”
Stan started lightly scratching Bill’s scalp. Bill sighed, relaxing further into his arms.
After sitting in comfortable silence for a minute, Stan yawned.
“Tired?” Bill asked.
Stan nodded. “A little bit.”
“Let’s take a nap, then.”
Stan nodded and stood up. Bill gasped and wrapped his legs around Stan’s hips.
Before Bill could ask, Stan said, “We’re not napping on the couch. We’re going to our bed.”
“Why?” Bill asked as Stan began to carry him to their room.
“I don’t want to wake up with a sore back and I don’t want to hear you complain about having one either.”
Since Stan’s legs are long and he took longer than usual strides, he deposited Bill on the bed a few seconds later.
Stan slipped his jeans off before sliding under the covers.
Bill, realizing he’d be more comfortable that way, kicked his own jeans off and took his flannel off too. He decided to keep his black undershirt on as he lied next to his husband.
Stan intertwined his legs with Bill’s and wrapped his arms around him. Bill wrapped his own arms around Stan and buried his face in his chest, breathing in his scent. Bill couldn’t describe how Stan smelled, he just smelled… nice. He honestly hated it when Stan wore cologne, it only covered up the natural smell.
Stan started idly running his nails along Bill’s scalp again and Bill let out a contented sigh, drawing as closely to Stan as he could.
Bill caught Stan’s lips in a quick kiss before burying his face in his chest again.
“I love you, Bill.”
Bill yawned. “I love you too, Stan.”
At the sound of Stan’s calm breathing and the sensation of long fingers running through his hair, Bill drifted off to sleep.