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When Phileas returns to his house, at the end of it all, it’s empty.
It’s not actually empty, of course, the fire is lit, and there’s a stack of papers on his armchair, and Grayson’s there somewhere. But so are his maps, and his books, and everything he’d used to fill the hole Estella left when she went to travel the world. The house is empty, and also full of painful ghosts.
Grayson is already asleep, so he undresses himself for bed, having long learned how to do so. (The buttons still give him trouble, and his fingers shake while he undoes the tedious things.)
He doesn’t sleep much that night, the bed far too soft and the covers far too plush compared to what he’d been sleeping on the past eighty days. It’s so difficult to get comfortable that he considers sleeping on the floor. He doesn’t.
Abigail and Passepartout come to his home early the next morning, and every morning after it. He’s embarrassingly relieved that they do. He no longer knows how to be alone.
He passes the time by studying the two of them. Nothing has changed between Jean and Abigail, and at the same time everything has. It’s not true love, he doesn’t think, but it’s certainly first love. They clash, but not in the way that hues do. They clash like twin waves, balancing each other out and leaving still waters in their wake. The sad smile they share when they kiss is not the same one he and Estella shared. They won’t last, he can tell. But they’re beautiful all the same.
It’s about a week later, when everyone is sufficiently settled back into London, that his friends discover the piano in one of the rooms off of the foyer.
They are helping sort through some of Phileas’s old maps and papers when Passepartout pulls the sheet off the piano, revealing its dark wood. Abigail looks over curiously from where she is rooting through one of Phileas’s many bookshelves, her eyes lighting up at the instrument.
“A piano!” she exclaimed. “Oh, I do love the instrument- Phileas, do you play? Or perhaps this is Grayson’s, if he’s still around?”
Phileas adjusted his sleeves awkwardly, chuckling a bit. “While yes, Grayson is still alive, just not in service anymore- I would not know if he plays the piano. And... Yes, I do play some.”
Abigail clapped her hands together quickly, looking ecstatic. Even Jean’s eyes twinkled with interest. “You simply must play something for us, Phileas! Augh, it’s been ages since I heard piano.”
Phileas smiled nervously, waving the suggestion off. “Oh, I-”
“If you would be... willing, Phileas,” Passepartout began, a small smile playing on his lips. “It would be nice to hear you play. I am sure you’re lovely.”
And well, how could he say no to that?
Phileas huffed out a large breath, his lips curling up slightly even as anxiety pooled in his stomach. “If you insist.” He sat down on the piano’s bench, brushing his fingers across the fall board before bringing it up to reveal the keys. His friends dutifully dragged chairs over to sit. (Well, Abigail did. Passepartout opted to simply perch on the arm of the chair Abigail was sitting on.)
He cleared his throat, refreshing his memory on one of the simpler melodies he learned and glancing over to see the two of them waiting attentively. He rifled through the papers on the music rack for a moment until he found the sheet he was searching for. It had been a while since he’d played this piece, but he knew it well.
He positioned his fingers over the keys, taking a deep breath in preparation. He began the song, his gaze trained on reading the sheet music in front of him, occasionally flickering down to his fingertips, which were gliding over the piano keys. The cacophony of sound filled the remarkably hollow sounding room, bouncing from walls into ears. It wasn’t perfect, not like his playing used to be, but it was still decent, he mused. He continued to play through the song, careful not to miss notes. It had been a while.
After the last notes rang out in the room, Abigail and Passepartout sat stunned into silence, until Passepartout broke it with a simple "Wow."
Phileas seemed to wilt slightly, misinterpreting their lack of words and rubbing the back of his neck. "It's not terribly impressive, I know, but I haven't had much practice in the past few years, with the club and the journey and all."
Jean was quick to wave his hands in front of him, shaking his head. "No, no, Phileas- I am not saying I didn't like it. Quite the opposite, really." Abigail was quick to nod her head rapidly in agreement.
"I mean-" Abigail starts, looking positively awed. "I took lessons when I was younger, but I couldn't possibly play something like that that fluently!"
Phileas looks almost misty-eyed at the praise. "Truly?"
"I believe you may have missed your calling as a pianist, monsieur." Passepartout jokes. The other man laughs softly, fiddling with the edge of his waistcoat.
Not for the first time, Phileas wonders what he’s done to deserve friends like this. He’s reminded of an instance a few too many years ago now for him to remember perfectly, with very different and much less admirable friends.
“Really, Foggy, you’d think you’d have given up this sort of thing by now.” Nyle, Phileas, and Bernard were sitting in the corridor of one of their houses as young men, Phileas having just finished playing his most recent piece for them.
“Whatever do you mean, Bellamy?” Bernard inquired, carefully defensive.
Nyle snorted, as though the question itself was ridiculous. “Well, Foggy isn’t exactly attempting to become a famed musician, and to keep up something frivolous like piano without an end goal of fame or fortune… it’s a bit queer, isn’t it?” Phileas startles at the word, turning his head sharply back towards the piano to avoid eye contact. “Almost thought all that junk got beat out of you back at Eton.”
Phileas doesn’t remember what he said in response. Likely something assuaging and agreeable, attempting to soften any blows that might come his way. Phileas was a very different man than he’d been when he was young. Turning back to see his friends smiling warmly at him, he made a resolution to play the instrument more, if only to make up for the shame he’d felt as a young man.
He sent an easy smile in his friends’ direction. “Is there anything else you’d like to hear me play?”