Archive of Our Own ^beta

Stan's fingers danced over the piano keys like the dancers on the ice rink. The soft melody he played echoed off the walls of the stadium, reaching the ears of all the people present, including Canadians, French, Americans... all kinds of people who made the effort to leave their homes to attend an ice-skating performance in downtown Montreal in the freezing cold of November.

Stan was used to playing to a large audience, but never alone. He didn't play in a large orchestra, in fact, he played in a small group with six other people. They performed in theaters and square bandstands, and even played at the opening ceremony of the Winter Olympics in Vancouver in 2010. 

But Stan, alone with his piano, didn't just play in squares, he also played at skating performances, university graduations and even in the food court at the mall. At home, he liked to play for hours on end for himself and whoever else was listening outside. Wherever he was, if there was a piano, he wouldn't miss the chance to dance his fingers across the black and white keys. 

It was half past ten in the evening when the performance ended, making it three hours since Stan had started playing the first notes. Applause rang out from all directions. Whistles and shouts were also heard, expressing the audience's joy. 

In the morning of the next day, he picked up his things and got in the car for a trip back to Toronto, after almost a whole month away. To play this gig, all expenses were covered by the event organizers, he was guaranteed all the basics and the right to come and go to the stadium whenever he wanted to practice with the piano — it was more interesting when the dancers were present. Stan loved being recognized outside his social circle, but he loved it even more when he got home and could have a hot bath and get into his own bed. 

It was Tuesday morning when Stan met up with his small orchestra group. Conductor Victoria had warned them at the previous meeting, two weeks earlier, that on that particular day they should be dressed formally, preferably in basic colors like black and white. She didn't say why, which made everyone curious — December was approaching, which probably meant a Christmas orchestra in a bandstand or theater. Whatever it was, Stan was looking forward to playing for the public again.

He was wearing black jeans and a white shirt, along with his most comfortable shoes. He had made sure that every detail of his outfit was correct, afraid of what might go wrong. 

He found his friends sitting in the first row of seats in the theater where they usually perform. There was no one else there and Stan wondered what could be so special about that day. Bebé and Wendy were wearing chic, comfortable black dresses, while the other guys wore clothes almost identical to Stan's, only differing in the color of their shirts — Tolkien and Kyle wore white like him, Clyde and Jimmy wore black. 

He sat at the end of his line of friends and stared at the empty stage for a few seconds, which seemed like years. The curtains were closed, which piqued the musicians' curiosity even more.

— I hope it's worth all the suspense — Bebé said, bored. 

The lights went out in the audience and the sound of a violin began to resonate from behind the red velvet curtains. It started low, then grew louder. It was slow and even sad. It echoed throughout the four walls of the theater, entering Stan's ears like the whisper of an angel. 

It took five seconds of the song for Stan's neurons to start working before he pulled from the back of his mind a memory of his early life as a pianist. He opened his mouth to say something, but the words stuck in his throat. Stan kept his eyes fixed on the stage, but gripped the arms of the chair as if he was going to combust or the chair was going to take off like a rocket at any moment.

Stan felt like a little girl at her favorite boy band's concert or something. His anxiety increased and Stan felt that at any moment he was going to start crying like a child. He returned to his serious posture when the curtains opened, revealing what he already knew.

He felt like screaming, banging his head on a table to make sure he wasn't dreaming, running out, crying all the water out of his body.

None other than the best violinist in the world was standing on the same stage as a nobody like Stan. He had awards, he had recognition, he had fans — and Stan was one of them —, he had the whole world in the palm of his hands, and all this at just twenty-three years old. 

His eyes sparkled as he admired the perfection with which each note was played. Not only that, but his upright posture, his clothes, his hair, even his height, everything seemed to have been calculated to make him the most perfect man in the world. Stan had been kneeling at his feet since he was a kid and that admiration continues to this day.

Stan never imagined that he would see the guy in person, never imagined that he would see him playing on the same stage as him, never imagined that a long-held dream would come true out of the blue. It was as if conductor Victoria had rummaged through his deepest thoughts until she found something. 

The notes he played came out of his violin with perfection, his eyes were calmly closed and the tranquility with which each movement was executed was simply admirable. His feet positioned at specific points gave him balance and majesty. The melody was delicate, Stan was enchanted by it as much as by the musician, and he didn't even notice when a few tears fell from his eyes. 

The violinist ended the short performance after about ten minutes. It was by no means his longest performance; Stan had already watched this man stand on a stage for hours, playing one song after another, from Mozart to Wieniawski. He opened his eyes calmly, his eyelashes like delicate feathers, and Stan realized that, in person, he was much more handsome. 

Stan wanted to jump on his neck, to take him home with him, but he stifled his thoughts when the conductor appeared on stage and called her little group. Stan felt like a lost duckling, his hands were sweating and his chest felt like it was being pressed down by an iron bar, making it difficult to breathe. The seven of them took to the stage and made a line so that the violinist could see everyone.

Stanley was just waiting for his alarm clock to ring, because there was no way it was real. There was no way he was meeting a god so suddenly. He was nervous, whatever that guy was doing there, Stan wanted to make a good first impression.

— Ladies and gentlemen, Craig Tucker — Stan wanted to run out into the street while giving his most manly shout and jumping up and down with exalted joy. — Mr. Tucker, this is my group.

"Jimmy Valmer is our flautist." The conductor continued. "Clyde Donovan, our violinist. Bebé Stevens is responsible for the harp, and Wendy Testaburger for the cello. Kyle Broflovski plays the bassoon. Tolkien Black, our bass player. And, of course, Stanley Marsh , the pianist."

Craig passed by shaking everyone's hand and being especially cordial to Bebé and Wendy, kissing both their hands. Stan kept his impure thoughts to himself, but when Craig shook his hand and their eyes made contact, the thought of jumping on the violinist's neck resurfaced. Craig's eyes were green and much brighter when seen up close, unlike Stan's darker blue eyes.

Stan felt the whole ground shake beneath his feet, he had just shaken Craig Tucker's hand. It could only be a dream — if it was, Stan hoped he'd never wake up.

— Craig is going to be part of our next Christmas performance. That was the surprise I had for you. Don't let me down, and don't let Mr. Tucker down.

Stan wanted to swallow all eighty-eight keys on his piano. He would never forgive himself if he disappointed the person he admires most in the world.

When he started playing the piano at the age of ten, Stan saw it only as a hobby. At thirteen, he had the ambition of one day being as recognized as Craig — who by then was already sixteen and performing in shows. Stan knows very well that he started to take this pianist thing more seriously when he saw Craig on TV for the first time. Something that day ignited a desire in him to learn to play the piano well enough to play in an orchestra, maybe he could catch Craig Tucker's eye. It took blood, sweat and tears to get into the small Toronto orchestra, and now his second dream was just a few steps away from coming true.

They picked up their instruments and brought them to the middle of the stage. Stan, as soon as he had set up his beloved piano, asked to be excused. He locked himself in the bathroom and unbuttoned his shirt, feeling like he was going to explode right then and there. He took a few deep breaths before saying a few desperate words to himself. He returned to the stage after a few minutes as if nothing had happened. 

He sat down at the piano and waited. Craig sat cross-legged in the front row, and Stan felt as if he was going to throw up all over the piano. He was so beautiful, so incredible, so... majestic . 

Stan played at least three songs, and after a few minutes, everyone had performed. They then began to think about the songs they could play for the Christmas performance. Stanley looked out of the corner of his eye and saw a simple smile on Craig's face. It might not have been much, but it was still a smile.

And it was beautiful.

Stan went home that night almost certain that he wouldn't be able to sleep for so long. The image of Craig Tucker, the feeling of holding his hand, the blessed sight of his smile and the sweet sound of his notes were still stuck in Stan's mind, preventing him from thinking about anything else.

…..

The next day, Stan met up with his group again, and there he was. When Stan arrived, Craig and Clyde were playing their violins together, the improvised melodies fitting perfectly. Craig was smiling a little more than the day before, and Stan began to think of a thousand reasons why. He pushed his thoughts aside and sat down in front of his piano. 

Even though he had a piano at home, Stan liked to rehearse in the afternoons and evenings when the theater was empty, giving the excuse that the acoustics sounded better there. So, on Friday, he put on any comfortable clothes and opened the theater, ready to strum the keys as if he were dancing in an open field. He sat down in front of the piano and looked at the scores of the songs they had chosen earlier — there would be fifteen in total, and Stan would be playing ten of them.

He took a deep breath and began to play the notes while following the score with his eyes. He imagined all those red seats filled with Canadians who had come to see the performance. He thought they would sell even more tickets if conductor Victoria announced Craig's distinguished presence, after all, who wouldn't want to see the best violinist in the world play in person? The sound of the notes he played was a little dull when played alone, but he imagined how much more beautiful it would be when the other musicians joined in.

A violin joined him and Stan broke out in a cold sweat, so much so that he missed notes and ended up playing five keys at once with each hand in a thunderous "BAM". The violin went out of tune too.

— Why did you stop?

Stan looked over his shoulder to find Craig standing there, his usual impeccable posture and incomparable beauty. He wanted to hide inside the piano, ashamed of himself.

— I didn't expect to find you here, actually.

— Do you come every day?

— Whenever the theater is empty. — He bit his lower lip and settled into his seat, facing Craig. — I didn't know you did that too.

— Well, I can't rehearse in the hotel — Stan gave a crooked smile. — It's Stanley, right?

— Stan. Just Stan is fine.

— Right, Stan — Craig smiled as he said his name and Stan was sure he was going to explode. It wasn't just anyone, it was the person Stan admired most in the world, it was Craig Tucker. — Would you teach me to play the piano if I asked?

" Anything, I'd do anything if you asked. " That's what he wanted to say, but he limited himself to "I guess so."

— Actually, I don't know how to teach — he felt his face turn red. — I mean, what I can recommend is that you start with a smaller piano or a keyboard. 

Craig arched an eyebrow at him and Stan let out a sigh.

— Sit here — he nodded towards the bench.

Craig sat down next to him and Stan began to feel on fire under his soft sweater and jeans, his hands were shaking with nerves and his throat was dry. 

He started slowly, opting for Debussy by Claire de Lune. He concentrated on the keys, leaving the world around him to one side. Craig watched from afar as Stan played, following the movement of his fingers. When he finished, he slowly pulled his hands away.

— You try — Craig stared at him in silence, his mouth in a dull smile. Stan thought again. — Okay, wait. Let's try this: you play one half of the piano, I'll play the other. 

Craig nodded and stood up straight. Stan counted to three and the two of them tried to start together. It started well, and the pianist felt his body grow even weaker with the closeness. When his hand came close to Craig's, he felt the urge to take it between his own and kiss them.

Holy shit, Stan was delirious at this point.

Craig missed one of the notes, but Stan still continued the song, instructing Craig to do the same with a quick "keep going". 

When the song ended, they both stood still, staring at the black and white keys. Stan looked out of the corner of his eye, Craig seemed amazed.

— What do you think?

— It's beautiful.

— It really is — Stan smiled foolishly, his mind on other thoughts far beyond. Craig looked at him. — I mean, yes, yes. It's much cooler when you play it all the way through and faster, like...

Craig stood up, leaving a space for Stanley, who began to play Chopin's Nocturne no. 20, in C sharp minor. It was a little faster and it was one of the songs Stan liked to play the most. 

Craig watched every movement, feeling like he was in heaven with every note Stan played.

Stan moved his hands away from the piano.

— Do you want to try the violin?

— Better not — he smiled embarrassedly.

— I've got an idea.

For someone like him, Craig seemed to want to play all the instruments and millions of songs at the same time, there was none of the usual calm he had on stage. 

Craig took his cell phone out of his jacket pocket and put on a song. It wasn't classical music, it was the kind of music Stan would learn at home of his own free will. The melody was tranquil and began with a violin playing very slowly in a medium tone; seconds later, Stan could hear a bass and a piano complementing the sound of the violin.

— It's a beautiful song.

— Play it with me.

Stan felt his heart skip a beat and want to burst out of his mouth. It was a unique request that made the pianist feel special. He might not be the first person to play with Craig, but he would be one of them. Of all the millions of people who had attended Craig's concerts, Stan was pretty sure that none of them had ever had this golden opportunity. 

Stan looked up the score of the song — Saturn , by Sleeping at Last — on the internet and positioned his cell phone horizontally, resting it on the sheet music he had been playing before Craig appeared. 

Stan took a quick look, trying to catch some of the important points of the score and gave a signal to Craig, who stood next to the piano, facing Stan. Up close, it was even cooler to watch the violinist's posture and his perfection in every aspect, it was even more incredible to watch him play. It was his moment to enter with the piano, which he did, following the score.

Craig was able to keep calm and play perfectly even with the sound of the piano overhead. Stan had to concentrate hard to play a new song accompanied by someone else, but Tucker seemed to know the score backwards and forwards — honestly, Stan expected nothing less.

His mind must have thought of something very funny, because Stan started laughing to himself and dropped his hands from the piano, resting his elbows on the keys and hiding his face in his hands. 

— Sorry, sorry, sorry! — He took a deep breath and raised his hands. He let out a faint laugh and bit his lower lip, ashamed of himself. 

— Is everything all right?

— Yeah, I'm just... sorry. I'm a bit tired. 

— You said you come here whenever the theater is empty, right? — Stanley nodded. — Why don't we do it like this, alternate the days we want to rehearse alone, and every Friday we rehearse together. At seven.

Stan felt his heart explode in his chest. It was surreal that the best violinist in the world — and Stan always made a point of emphasizing this — wanted to rehearse with him.

— Only if... — Stan stood up and lowered the piano lid. — If you let me take you out for a drink after every rehearsal on Friday.

— How perceptive.

— Will you accept or not?

— I won't turn down a drink.

In his mind, Stan tore up all the sheet music and swallowed it dry. It wasn't possible, he thought again that he was dreaming. 

He realized that he had until the end of the month to go out with Craig, and that became his new goal. He no longer just wanted Craig's attention, he wanted all of him. Thirteen-year-old Stan would call him gay — and maybe he was a bit — if he saw the mountains he was moving just to get a crumb of interest. 

— Does the agreement apply from today?

— Not today, I need to get some rest. I couldn't sleep properly last night. But next week without delay — he rolled up the sheet music and put it in his pocket. — Want a lift?

— No need, I'm just around the corner — they left the theater together, the typical December Canadian chill blowing in their faces. 

— Can I ask you something?

— Of course.

— Why, of all the big orchestral groups, the most talented and experienced people... why did you choose us?

Craig clicked his tongue on the roof of his mouth, looking up.

— Tell me the name of a painter.

— I don't know. Van Gogh.

— He's a well-known painter. Have you ever heard of Isaak Levitan? 

— I don't think so.

— And do you think he was a bad painter?

— I don't think so either.

— Did I answer your question? — Craig looked at him with a mischievous smile on his face, and Stan looked straight ahead, avoiding eye contact. — The point, Stan, is that everyone knows the big ones. But what about the little ones? They deserve a chance too.

Craig put his hand on his shoulder, still smiling, and Stan looked at him. Damn handsome smile, damn handsome man . He looked into his green eyes and felt a wave of warmth in the midst of the Canadian cold.

— I'll see you next week, then. I'll take the theater on Tuesdays and Thursdays, OK?

— No. I want Tuesdays and Thursdays.

— Then I'll take the theater on Mondays and Wednesdays.

— Fine — he held out his hand. Craig shook it. — See you tomorrow, there's rehearsal with the group in the morning. Every day, from eight to noon.

— Oh, thanks for letting me know.

Craig smiled again.

Stan went to sleep that night with Craig's warm smile appearing in every one of his dreams.

.....

Another Friday arrived and Stan couldn't believe how quickly it had gone by. He was a little late because his mother called to ask how things were going. When he arrived at the theater, Craig was already playing something on stage, and Stan watched from afar behind the aisles. 

He was so beautiful. Craig was so young and yet he had already achieved a million things, including fans, awards, contracts... But of course he wasn't in this alone, his mother, Laura Tucker, had encouraged him from the start and played just as well as he did. All the prestige she had earned in her long years as a musician was passed on to Craig, who expanded this recognition even further.

Craig ended the song and slowly lowered his hands. Stan watched with his hands in his pockets, starting to rave again, this time about what Craig's dark hair must smell like and what it must feel like to have it between his fingers.

— I heard you coming, Stan.

Stan took a deep breath and entered the stage.

— Sorry it took so long. It was Tchaikovsky, wasn't it?

— How did you know?

Stan held back the urge to say that he had watched all the recordings of Craig's performances back to back a million times while gathering information about him and his favorite musicians. He stared at the violinist in absurd silence, unable to think of a quick answer.

 — Stan?

— What are we rehearsing today? — he changed the subject and sat down in front of the piano, without looking too closely at Craig.

— How about the same one from last week? We didn't finish that one. 

— Sure, perfect

He picked up the sheet music and, just like the week before, Craig positioned himself next to the piano, his feet in a specific position and his posture perfect. Stan kept his eyes on the keys and signaled Craig to begin.

This time, they were almost finished when Stan felt someone's gaze on them. He stopped immediately and looked back to see conductor Victoria standing there, looking like she was going to burst into tears at any moment.

— Um... — Stan swallowed.

— That was beautiful, you two have such an inspiring rapport! — Victoria approached them both. — How many times have you played together?

— It's the second time, actually.

— Bravo! Bravo! I expected nothing less from either of you. Why don't you give an extra performance at the end of the Christmas events? Nobody needs to know, it'll be a surprise — Stan gave her a desperate look, as if he wanted to shout at Victoria to shut up. He looked at Craig, who seemed quite at ease. — The music is up to you, I won't tell the others.

— It would be a pleasure — they said in unison.

Stan wanted to run and he really hoped that the whole theater would explode on top of his head. It wasn't possible. He didn't want to seem desperate to perform with Craig, especially alone.

— What are you doing here so late? 

— I just came to pick up some papers I was asked to do at the last minute — she raised his right hand, holding up some stapled sheets. — I heard you playing and came to have a look. 

Stan shrugged and Victoria said goodbye to them both, leaving the stage and disappearing into the darkness beyond the aisles. 

— Your turn to choose a song — Craig turned to Stan. 

Stan blinked a few times before taking his cell phone out of his pocket and scrolling through his playlist of favorite songs. 

They played two different songs before deciding to rehearse some of the songs for the Christmas performance — they would play eight together. Playing with your friends was nice, but playing with Craig was amazing. Hearing the sound of Clyde's violin was one thing, hearing the sound of Craig's violin was something else entirely. It was like being in space, you felt like you were floating, it felt like you could touch the stars around you.

When they left the theater, it was raining. They sat on the floor, leaning against the box office while they waited for the rain to pass. Craig lit a cigarette, which he shared with Stan while they talked and distracted themselves. Stan had often wondered if people recognized Craig when he walked down the street and how he reacted when they asked for autographs and photos. 

— What do people do when they meet you in the street?

— It depends, — he replied, looking up. He let out a puff of his cigarette. — Some ask me for photos and autographs. Others are more extreme and ask me to go out with them.

Stan pressed his lips together in a thin line, afraid that Craig had agreed to go out with him so that things wouldn't get awkward between them.

— Ah... well...

— No, it's different. We're together now, it's totally different from someone disturbing my afternoon coffee at the bakery by asking for my number. 

— It's occurred to me — he took the cigarette from Craig's fingers and took a drag.

— And what do you do?

— When the person doesn't know me, I accept — he let out the smoke slowly. — It's different for someone to ask for my number because they want to know me, and for someone to ask for my number because they know me. 

— So give me your number, I want to know you.

Stan felt the world stop and his face burn with shame, but he took his cell phone out of his pocket. He should perhaps only have changed the wallpaper on his home screen, because Craig noticed and said:

— Why am I your wallpaper?

Stan clicked his tongue on the roof of his mouth and a shy smile formed on his lips, but all that came out of his mouth was an "ah". Craig shrugged. He handed the handset to Craig and he entered his number in the contact list.

— I never thought I'd meet you, actually — he shrugged and rested his chin on his knees. — But you've always been an inspiration to me. I'd spend hours researching you and watching all your performances, interviews... My friends said I was weird — read 'gay' — for talking about you so much. I hope you don't find it weird too, and I can change the photo if it makes you uncomfortable.

— No, no, no. Of course not. You're surely not the only person who does this. Don't worry.

— In a way, you helped me through a bit of a shit phase in my life — Craig listened carefully to Stan's outburst. — My parents were going through a rough patch in their marriage, and all I could do to forget about it was play the piano and watch you perform. Then they got divorced. I was fourteen when it happened. Ten when the fights started and thirteen when they got worse. It's a bit weird to say it to your face now, but you... your music was important to me. I wanted to be like you.

Craig knew that a lot of people liked him and what he did, but he never thought he'd hear something this deep. They were important words to him. Laura always said that, somewhere in the world, what Craig did could touch someone's heart and inspire them, but Craig never thought he would meet that person in real life. She said many things that Craig would carry with him for life.

Craig shifted around, thinking of what to say. They were so distracted by the conversation that they didn't even notice that the rain had stopped. Craig tapped Stan on the shoulder and stood up, holding out his hand to him. Stanley took it as if it were a rope that would pull him out of the deep end. Craig had already been that rope once, and sometimes Stan felt ridiculous for thinking of that metaphor. 

Again, when he came face to face with Craig, he couldn't resist the urge and need to look deep into his sparkling eyes. 

Stan knew many things about Craig. He knew that he had been born in Colorado and had never left there unless it was to perform. Born on February 10th, Craig came from a whole line of famous musicians, including pianists, bassists, flutists, but only he and his mother were violinists. Laura Tucker taught him most of what Craig knows today and is always by his side. They played together several times on stages and at wedding parties. 

As for his father, Craig didn't talk much about him in interviews. Stan tried looking in magazines, gossip sites and wherever else he could find something, but there was nothing. Perhaps it was a sensitive subject for him and Laura.

He had already won countless awards, played on movie soundtracks, passed through numerous Academies and impressed many critics around the world, whether in America or Europe. Craig was definitely a living legend.

And now he was going out with Stan, a random guy.

They got into the car and Stan drove to a bar in the city center. He noticed Craig's gaze on him and turned his face to look at him when they stopped at a traffic light. Neither of them said anything, they were brought out of their thoughts when the car behind honked for them to move forward. Stan could spend hours staring at Craig's face without saying a word and never tire of it.

They shared a portion of French fries and had a beer. The bar was a bit crowded, and they opted to sit at a table further back when a couple vacated the place. 

— I'm telling you! It was embarrassing — Craig told a story about when he was invited to play at a wedding in Italy and was almost late because he couldn't understand a word they were saying at the airport. — Luckily my mother came with me, otherwise who knows what would have happened. I should have thought of that before. 

— But why didn't you speak to them in English?

— I was nervous at the time and it didn't cross my mind. I apologized a thousand times to the bride and groom in a poorly pronounced Italian mixed with slurred English. At least they paid me later.

Stan wiped a tear from his eye after a series of interspersed laughs. 

— You said your parents got divorced, right? — he changed the subject very quickly. — If you don't want to talk about it, that's fine.

— No, it's fine — Stan ate a fry. — Why?

— My parents went through it too, I was much younger — Craig sipped his beer and tapped the table a little. — It was ridiculous. 

— What was ridiculous?

— My father was against me becoming a musician. A violinist. He said it was faggoty , to put it mildly. 

— No kidding — Stan knew Craig's mother was single, but he didn't know it was for that reason. — Are you serious?

— Yeah. Imagine if he knew the rest of the story — Craig rolled his eyes, bored.

Stan leaned across the table, staring at Craig as he thought about what he meant by that. A memory flashed into his mind.

— So the rumors were true?

— What rumors?

— Oh, so I'd heard girls saying things about you liking other boys. But I thought it was just to annoy everyone. Like those One Direction fans.

Craig nodded.

— That's the worst part of being famous. Having the eyes of the media staring you in the back of the head at every turn stops you from doing and being a lot of things. But it's true, I'm gay. Like, it doesn't bother me, the bad thing is thinking that I could lose everything if it gets into the media. 

Stan stopped to think how such a small thing could end someone's whole life. Sure, Craig would have and receive the support of many, but he would lose the support of many others too.

Stan remained quiet, pondering what Craig had said. It was only now that he realized how Craig was under violent social and personal pressure, forcing him to hide from everyone. Stan felt nervous, thinking that at this very moment someone might be listening in on their conversation.

— Oh, I should have thought of that — Stan hid his face in his hands. — Sorry. 

— No. Hey, Stan — Craig held his hand and stroked it. Stan looked at him curiously. — It's alright. Do you want to ask for the bill and get out of here?

— Sure. I'll pay.

— No, let me.

— I'll let you shut up. I invited you, I'll pay.

— It's not fair.

— Yes, it is — he raised his hand and called the waiter over. 

— I'll pay next time.

— You won't.

Craig rolled his eyes, knowing it was a losing battle. He took the last sips from his bottle of beer and waited for Stan to pay the bill. As he watched, he realized how beautiful Stan's slight smile was and how it made a dimple appear in his cheek. Craig only realized that he was still holding his hand when they got up to leave. 

Stan glanced down at their joined hands before smiling and releasing them slowly, not wanting anything to go wrong for Craig later. You never know when someone's going to take a photo of you and post it on the internet — and so they say, once it's on the internet, it's impossible to delete.

They drove through the city to the viewpoint, where they stopped the car and looked out over the city, sitting on the hood.

— What do you think of Toronto? — Stan asked, looking at the city lights.

— It's an incredible place. Even though it's relatively close, I'd never thought of coming here until... 

— Until...?

— You played in Montreal, didn't you? At the skating rink.

— Oh, no fucking way — Stan laughed, looking at Craig's face. — Were you there? 

— My sister performed. Tricia. Remember?

— Damn! She's your sister? She was amazing!

— I know! — A huge smile appeared on his face. Craig smiled like that when he talked about music. Maybe he smiled like that when he talked about things that were important to him. — I miss her.

— What happened?

— She left with my father. She always enjoyed listening to our mother play the violin, but she really loved ice skating — Craig looked up at the sky, his eyes jumping from one star to another. — My mother always supported us, no matter what we chose to do, unlike my father. He left Colorado and took Tricia with him. I haven't seen her since.

— And how did you know she'd be there?

— I always looked up competitions, contests, skating schools, always trying to find out where she was. I kind of followed her from afar, but I wanted to be able to support her up close. But I also don't know if she feels the same way.

— I understand. I see my sister very little too, but I can imagine how much worse it must be in your case. 

— It's all right, though. 

— You said you saw me in Montreal. So?

— Let's say I asked the event organizers who you were and went after the information I was interested in.

— Huh — Stan recalled the conversation they had last week. — And all that talk about small artists?

— Oh, that was true too. 

— What was your real interest when you came to Toronto?

Craig remained quiet, looking up with a smile on his face and his hands in his coat pockets. Stan waited for an answer that never came, and gave up on knowing the truth. 

He looked at Craig for too long to analyze and memorize every detail of his face. He had two very small moles on his face: one near his mouth, on the right side, and one under his left eye. His smile was even more beautiful when seen in profile, and Stan loved it when Craig fiddled with his hair.

Stan felt privileged to be able to see Craig so closely, that was the truth. 

He took his cell phone out of his pocket and carefully pointed the camera at Craig. He wanted to capture that perfect view. He would have gotten a good shot if he had turned off the flash. 

— Hey!

Craig reached out to take the cell phone from his hand, but Stan stretched out his arm, laughing non-stop.

— Delete the photo.

— I'm not going to delete it. It's probably just a blur.

— Let me see.

— No.

Craig tried to stretch further, but with Stan's other hand pushing him, it was a little too difficult. 

Their gazes crossed in an instant, leaving the two of them trapped in that moment. Stan let go of his cell phone when Craig's lips touched his. He wrapped his arms around Craig's neck and deepened the kiss, tangling his fingers in his hair and letting him caress his waist under his tracksuit with the hand he wasn't using for support.

They moved apart slightly, only for Stan to grab the violinist by the collar of his shirt and start kissing him again. Craig put his hand on his thigh and squeezed, eliciting a gasp from the pianist. He ran his hand up his body until he reached his face, where he caressed his cheek.

They exchanged a few more short kisses before Stan whispered, staring into Craig's green eyes and feeling his warm breath against his mouth.

— Wanna to go to my place?

— Sure — he gave Stan one last kiss on the lips before getting off the car. 

At home, Stan had the chance to have a little more of Craig. He had the chance to kiss his mouth more times, to feel the shiver his touch caused, to feel the warmth of his body. 

Craig touched him so well, with such affection and desire, he seemed to know exactly where Stan liked to be kissed, because whenever his mouth touched any part of his body, a shock went through every nerve. He drew loud moans from Stan's mouth, and every movement he made with his hips was precise. His nails left scratches on his waist and thighs, his lips left red marks on his neck. 

Stan felt loved and every kiss from Craig only increased that feeling even more. When they pulled away, both tired and breathing heavily, Stan felt electric, he felt better than ever. He crawled between Craig's legs, kissing him lovingly on the mouth and caressing his face.

— I wanted you to stay here in Toronto. 

— I still live with my mother.

— And what? Bring her here too.

— Why don't you go to the United States?

— With all due respect, but I refuse — he pecked Craig on the lips. — And I've got the orchestra here. I can't just leave.

— It's just that all my stuff is in Colorado.

Stan threw himself to one side, staring at the ceiling of the room. He took a deep breath and pinched the bridge of his nose. 

— Sydney, Berlin, Vancouver, Munich, Rome, Venice, Barcelona, Lisbon, Madrid, Paris, Amsterdam, Dublin, London, New York, São Paulo and Athens. And now Toronto.

— What's that all about?

— The places where you performed. You've been all over the world, from America to Australia. That's no excuse. 

— It's different.

— Don't you feel stuck in one place? I mean, you've never moved and you've only seen new places because you've performed. But what about moving? New people, new atmospheres... Talk to your mother — he turned to Craig and took his hand. He kissed his palm and put it on his face for Craig to stroke. 

— But what about you? You've never played abroad. 

— I'm not famous like you. I haven't been to any really great academies, I've never played in front of critics. Our group is more of a state thing.

— Would you travel with me to play by my side? You remember what Victoria said today. We have harmony . Anywhere we play, people will like it. It doesn't have to be in a huge stadium. I'm sure that if we play in a corner bar, it will attract attention.

— You're better than that. Think about my proposal and let me know by the end of the month. I want to spend New Year's Eve with you.

— Only if you think about my proposal too.

— Okay, I'll think about it — he kissed Craig's mouth and pulled their bodies closer together. — Now, go and take a shower, I'll lend you some clothes.

Craig kissed his forehead before getting out of bed and going into the bathroom of Stan's apartment. 

When they had both showered and changed into more comfortable clothes, Craig plopped down on the sofa and started looking at his cell phone. Stan sat down next to him and looked at the screen. The violinist opened the camera and pointed it at Stan's face, who gave a shy smile. He took a photo. He kissed Stan's cheek and took another. 

Stan was impressed by how affectionate Craig could be and how good it made him feel. Stan could easily lay his head on his shoulder and take the best nap of his life. 

Craig looked over his head and, between the half-open door, he could see the end of the piano.

— Play it for me. The piano.

— Oh, yeah, sure — he stood up embarrassed, followed by Craig. 

He sat down at the piano and rummaged through his notebook. The piano in Stan's apartment was much smaller than the piano in the theater, had fewer keys and was dark brown, unlike the glossy black of the acoustic.

He placed his hands on the keys and began to play You Found Me, by the band The Fray. It was more like an acoustic version, as the original song had a guitar, acoustic guitar and drums accompanying the piano. Stan sang the chorus softly:

Lost and insecure

You found me, you found me

Lying on the floor

Surrounded, surrounded

Why'd you have to wait 

Where were you? Where were you?

Just a little late

You found me, you found me

Stan had only practiced the first part of the song, but hoped that one day he would be able to play the whole thing for Craig.

Craig stroked Stan's hair and kissed his cheek.

— That was beautiful. As always — he smiled against Stan's skin, leaving another kiss on his cheek.

That cold December night, Stan slept curled up in Craig's arms with the TV on while they watched a movie. At dawn, he turned off the TV and went back to sleep, sinking his face into Craig's chest and thinking about everything they had done during the many hours they had spent together. 

He thought of the songs they had played together, the cigarette they had shared, the french fries and beers. The soft touch of Craig's lips on his on the car at the viewpoint, the warmth of Craig's body when they crawled under the covers to make love. He thought about Craig's affection, his smiles at him and, above all, what he had said about Stan joining him when he wanted to perform somewhere. 

Maybe that would be an interesting idea.

Maybe it would work out.

Maybe Stan would accept the proposal.

Maybe. Maybe. Maybe.

…..

That night was repeated once more until the day of the Christmas performance. Once again Stan could feel Craig's touches on his body, the sighs in his ear, and once again Craig could hear Stan moan his name. Once again Stan was able to lie on the sofa and enjoy Craig stroking his hair.

On the 24th, they spent the night together with Laura, since Stan wouldn't be able to leave Toronto to visit his relatives in Vancouver. They went out for dinner and afterwards Stan had the chance to hear Laura and Craig play together — they asked permission from the musicians who were playing there and borrowed their violins, playing for the whole restaurant, which vibrated with applause after a short performance. 

On the 25th, the streets were full of people. The theater had been decorated with Christmas lights, garlands and ornaments on the railings in the upper part of the audience. Wendy and Bebé wore long red dresses, as did Victoria. The boys confined themselves to black suits with a red flower on the left side, and in Stan's view, seeing Craig wearing a suit was like seeing an angel. 

The main performance started at eight o'clock and finished at half past ten. While he was playing, Stan could see Laura in the front row and she looked emotional. She cried every time Craig performed — it must have been the best feeling in the world to see your son go so far.

Conductor Victoria took the microphone and began to speak.

— Thank you for coming, ladies and gentlemen. Tonight we have an extra performance, a surprise prepared by two of our musicians.

The two musicians in question were too busy snuggling in the bathroom, hands wandering here and there, shaky sighs being let out, slow kisses on the neck and caresses in the hair. When Vitoria began to speak, they both pulled away and looked deep into each other's eyes, a silent promise to continue later. They straightened up in front of the mirror and had one last kiss before returning to the stage.

They were greeted by a series of shouts, whistles and claps and positioned themselves in their respective places, Stanley at the piano in the center of the stage and Craig next to him. 

They exchanged a serious look and Craig made his entrance to the song they played the first Friday they met. It might not have been a Christmas tune, but it was Victoria who let them choose what to play to close. Stan concentrated on the piano in front of him, on the black and white keys where his fingers loved to dance, where his whole life had been.  

He didn't even realize when it was over, but he heard the clapping louder than ever, and fought the urge to cry that rose in his throat. His friends joined them on stage so they could say goodbye to the audience.

They put their hands together, and when Craig took Stan's hand, he gave it a little caress with his thumb. After they got together to talk backstage, Laura went to greet them personally and to congratulate them on their incredible performance, leaving everyone there as static as the day they met Craig. She gave her son a big hug, and Stan saw him cry for the first time. 

They gathered to drink and eat, knowing that they would be repeating the same performance over the next two days. As expected, the theater reached its maximum capacity and tickets were sold out in a matter of minutes when people found out they would have the unique chance to see Craig Tucker live. 

It was almost 1am when they left the restaurant. Craig and Stan went together to Stan's apartment to continue what they had started earlier. It was calmer, with more gentle kisses and light touches than with the adrenaline of the previous time. Craig sat on the bed with Stan on his lap, the two of them guiding his movements and quickly feeling the tiredness take over their bodies. They ducked under the shower together and snuggled on the sofa afterwards.

— Have you thought about what I said? — Stan sat sideways on Craig's lap, hugging his neck and kissing his cheek. 

— I thought about it and talked to my mother.

— So?

— It's a surprise — Craig took Stan's lips in his before he could say anything, laying him down on the sofa and kissing his cheek. — Have you thought about what I said?

Stan stared back at him.

— It's a surprise.

He kissed his mouth and held the other man's t-shirt while he caressed his face with his other hand. He crossed his legs around his waist and smiled when Craig kissed his cheek again.

— What do you think about going to the beach on New Year's Eve? We could leave as soon as the show's over, on the 27th, and spend a week there.

— I don't know, it's too cold this time of year. I have a better idea: we can watch the fireworks from the terrace of the building while drinking wine. We could wrap up in a blanket. 

— That's a much better idea — he kissed Stan's cheek and got on the sofa so that Stan could snuggle up to him. — Merry Christmas, Stan.

— Merry Christmas, Craig.

…..

Craig brought Stan some wine that Laura had given them as a present. Stan took two wine glasses and a blanket and they went up to the terrace of the building.

Stan never thought that meeting the person who, in a way, saved his life would make things turn out like this. Stan had the best month of his life when things with Craig started to happen. He felt special, he felt loved by someone he never thought he would be. His favorite moments of the day were when he was with Craig, no matter how they were. Whether they were snuggled in warm embraces in bed, or enjoying each other's company while watching a movie, or even playing some soft melody on their instruments. What mattered was that they devoted every second to each other. 

Stan gazed at the darkening sky while Craig caressed his waist and the two drank wine. It was half past eleven at night and they decided to settle down a few minutes earlier so they could talk before New Year's Eve. 

Craig left light kisses on his face and the corner of his mouth as he whispered and mumbled a few curled words. Stan felt the heat in his body increase with each kiss and smiled non-stop. Craig's mutterings were almost unintelligible, but Stan always understood a compliment here or a " honey" there.

— C'mere, c'mere — Craig mumbled against Stan's cheek, kissing him close to the ear.

— Five minutes to go, Craig, — Stan said. — And you've already drunk almost half the bottle yourself. 

— I get nervous around you... — he kissed the corner of his mouth. — Look at me, babe...

Stan looked up, his face a little red, not sure if it was because of the cold or because he was embarrassed, his head resting on his arms resting on his knees. He smiled faintly when Craig began to touch the quivering parts of his hair, before beginning to stroke it with his fingertips and give him a few more light kisses on the lips. 

— I remembered something — Craig smiled against his lips. — Do you know what I imagined these days? 

— Hm, what?

— You wearing a silver ring with my name on it, and me wearing one with yours. We'd live in a little house in the mountains... We'd have a dog and it'd sleep at the foot of the piano whenever you played. I would look at you closely and admire every detail of you, especially the dimple in your cheek when you smile.

Craig managed to make Stan tear up a little at the thought of something he really wanted to happen, but which he knew most likely wouldn't and couldn't without very bad consequences. Craig carefully wiped away his tears.

— Calm down, babe — he kissed his mouth. — I don't like it when you cry. 

Stan closed his eyes and took a deep breath. 

— I'm sorry — he whispered.

— It's all right. Come closer so we can see the fireworks.

Stan moved closer to Craig and leaned against his body. The violinist slipped his arm behind his neck and kissed his head. 

— What time is it?

— One minute — Stan said.

Craig continued to stroke Stan's face. The clock struck midnight and the skies filled with multicolored fireworks, heralding the start of a new year. Craig's eyes shone brighter with each explosion, and Stan felt lost in that gaze. 

He nudged Craig's arm and motioned for him to turn his body. Craig did so and Stan settled between his legs, resting his head on his chest and wrapping his arms around his waist. Tucker returned the embrace, stroking Stan's back in a light caress.

Within seconds, Stan was back to his teenage years, when he'd skip school to curl up in the embrace of whoever he was dating at the time. He felt so good in the violinist's embrace, he never wanted to leave. It was warm and sincere, it made him feel safe. It had feeling, it had truth.

Craig stroked his hair and Stan looked up. He lifted his body enough to kiss Craig's lips. It was gentle, soft and slow. 

— Happy New Year, honey — he said between kisses.

— Happy New Year.

…..

The year began calmly, but strangely. Stan paid Craig and Laura a visit at their hotel while they were packing up to leave. Stan still couldn't get used to the strange feeling that came over him when he thought about it. Craig had been one of the best things that had happened to him in recent years, and now he was leaving without Stan having any confirmation as to whether they would see each other again. 

He knocked on the door a few times and felt a sense of relief when Craig answered. 

— Can I talk to you for a minute? — Craig brought Stan into the room and the two of them locked themselves in the bathroom. Stan sat on the sink. — Are you coming back here? Like... to see me.

Craig caressed his face and kissed his mouth.

— Of course I am. 

Stan leaned forward when Craig wrapped him in a hug. He sank his face into the curve of his neck, smelling the sweet perfume the violinist wore.

— I know it's ridiculous and you have other things to worry about, you're going to meet new people... But can I ask you not to forget me? 

Craig pulled away from the embrace and held Stan's face in his hands, looking deep into his eyes. 

Stan felt a strange chill, it seemed like the last time he would see Craig's green eyes. It seemed like it would be the last time he would feel Craig's embrace, hear his voice, then never again feel his affection or receive all that Craig had to offer.

Stan found himself wondering what things would be like if he'd never had a crush on Craig Tucker from the beginning of his life as a musician. He wondered what things would be like if Craig had never gone to see the ice-skating show in Montreal. He wondered what it would be like if he hadn't been interested enough in Stan to go all the way to Toronto to see him.

His life had been saved by Craig's music once. Now he wanted Craig to be a full part of it.

— I'll never forget, Stan — there was absolute truth in his words. — When I said I'd imagined you and me living together in a little house in the mountains, I wasn't kidding. 

Stan nodded, hugging him again.

— Thanks for everything, Craig.

…..

June arrived after months, which passed like seconds. Since Craig had left, Stan and he found themselves talking on the phone every day during the evenings when they were free. Hearing Craig's voice was the best part of his day, and even though he couldn't touch him, he felt closer to him.

Craig had played two more gigs in the meantime, one in Las Vegas and the other in Florence. Stan, as always, sat in front of the TV and watched from start to finish, appreciating every move Craig made and every melody he played. The sensation wasn't the same as seeing Craig play in person, but it still sent shivers through his whole body.

When he turned off the television, silence filled the apartment. It was deafening. He shifted on the sofa, uncomfortable. He felt trapped in the moments when he had lain on the sofa with Craig and slept against his chest, feeling the light caress of his fingers in his hair. Craig had left nothing behind, no jacket with his scent, no perfume, nothing. Nothing but his shadow. 

That's how Stan slept: lying on the sofa, fiddling with his own hair and imagining it was Craig's hand there. It wasn't the same, but it was what was at hand.

Stan went back to his routine of playing alone in the theater every night, and for a second he hoped that Craig would appear from the aisles and join him with his violin, just like the first time.

On Thursday, Stan sat down in front of the piano and stared at the keys, not knowing what to play. The theater was empty and silent, and Stan didn't have enough strength to imagine the red seats filled with people as interested in him as at the Christmas performances. He remained static for several minutes.

A knot formed in his throat, a lump of loneliness. He closed his eyes and began to strum, without paying attention. The next thing he knew, he was playing the melody he had played with Craig the first night they met. He sang softly.

I couldn't help but ask for you to say it all again

I tried to write it down, but I could never find a pen

I'd give anything to hear you say it one more time

That the universe was made just to be seen by my eyes

He prolonged the melody a little longer, wanting to be trapped in that moment forever. That's when he heard that sound. 

Tears quickly ran down his face, dripping onto the white keys. He smiled without much effort, but continued to play, not letting himself get distracted or miss such beautiful notes.

He pressed his lips together in a thin line when the violin fell silent, and played the last notes, slower than his heartbeat. His anxiety was at its limit.

— Incredible as always, honey.

He looked over his shoulder and wanted to cry even more when he saw Craig standing there. He got up and wrapped him in a tight hug.

— I told you I'd be back — Stan didn't know what to say, he just shook his head, allowing himself to feel. — Come with me, I want to show you something.

Craig took his hand and the two of them left the theater together. This time, the ride was in Craig's car, and it took a little longer than when they first spent the night together. 

Craig stopped the car in the middle of a forest, there were only trees around.

— Is this it?

— Not yet, but it's a surprise — Craig covered his eyes with his hands and stood behind him, guiding him along the path.

Stan stood still, feeling the dirt path under his feet, stepping on pebbles. When they stopped, all Stan could hear was Craig's breathing close to his ear and the wind whipping through the pine trees.

— Ready?

— I think so.

Craig slowly pulled his fingers away and Stan opened his eyes only to find himself staring at a house with glass walls, concrete, wood and black metal details. The house was huge and the lights inside were on. Stan could see a dining table, a sofa that looked super soft and a huge television. In a room to the left, Stan saw a piano just like the one that he played in the theater, with a violin stand next to it. The lights brought an air of comfort to the room.

There was movement inside the house, and Stan realized it was Laura putting some things on the dining table. A smooth-haired golden retriever was following her around, and from time to time Laura bent down to stroke its ears.

Stan felt his legs go weak and looked at Craig in disbelief.

— What's all this?

— It's our home.

Home . The word reverberated in Stan's brain.

— "Our" yours and your mother's, or...

— No, Stan — he put his arm around his neck and drew him closer. — "Our" mine and yours. Ours.

Stan burst into nervous laughter, wrapping his arms around Craig and sinking his face into his chest, not sure how to react to the surprise.

— You're crazy.

— It's not over yet, come on.

Craig led the pianist into the house, up the huge staircase that led to the front door. Stan greeted Laura with a quick nod because Craig wouldn't let go of his hand, and lifted him up to the balcony of the room where the instruments were.

Stan leaned on the glass ledge, watching the whole city below, the lights being little twinkling dots. Craig wrapped his arms around his waist and kissed his cheek. Stan didn't turn around, but he noticed Craig moving and slipping his hand into his jacket pocket. He reached under Stan's arm and was holding a little navy blue velvet box.

— Tucker.

He opened the box without moving his other hand from Stan's hip. Two thin silver rings with their names engraved on them.

— Stanley Marsh — he whispered in his ear, — would you agree to date me or have you changed your mind?

— I would never do that. Of course I do.

Craig took his hand and put one of the rings on his finger, then put the other on his own. Stan turned to him and held his face between his hands. He kissed his mouth and didn't think about leaving too soon.

The house in the mountains, the dog and the silver rings. Yeah, Craig really wasn't joking when he said all those things on New Year's Eve.

Stan was about to start a new phase in his life. He sold all his things and the apartment in the city center, and along with it, the memories of the nights he had spent with Craig. The bed they had sex in and the sofa they had slept on. The glasses they drank wine from and the piano he played him a song on.

It was strange to see the apartment empty, it seemed bigger than it really was. But he needed it. The feeling of starting again was rejuvenating. Stan remembered when he moved to Toronto alone to start his journey with the orchestra.

Now he had a new home and a new family. A new life. 

He played in the orchestra and managed to talk Victoria into joining Craig. Little by little, the group grew and new musicians joined them: Tweek, a flautist; Kenny, a bassist; Heidi, a cellist. It wasn't a lot of people, but it was progress. 

Stan found himself building new memories with his group and in his new home. Even after months of living together, it was still surreal to believe that he was sharing a lifetime with Craig Tucker. 

Craig was still on the podium, still the best in the world, and even when a new person took his place, he was still number one. But for Stan. 

Craig was the best in the world in Stan's world. The best musician, the best cook, the best psychologist, the best boyfriend.

He was his whole world, his whole life. Stan loved him with everything he had.

And his music continued to save his life every new day.