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Monday, 7:03 AM
Thorin pulled the bottom of his foot closer to his behind, feeling the worn muscle stretch. The bricks of the wall he was leaning against had grown warm under his prolonged touch.
He checked his watch again and looked back towards the door to the building. Suddenly, the light turned on in the hallway, the yellow glow coming through the small window at the top of the door and onto the murky pavement.
Thorin pushed away from the wall quickly as he saw the door open up and the front wheel of a bicycle pushing through the doorway.
He jogged closer.
‘Good morning,’ he said to the smaller man who was struggling to hold the door away from his bike.
‘Oh.’ The man smiled as Thorin grabbed hold of the door and held it open for him. ‘Morning. Out for your usual run?’
‘Just finished,’ Thorin said, fudging the truth.
‘And how’s the weather this morning?’ The bicycle hit the pavement and turned towards its usual direction.
‘Still chilly.’ Thorin nodded at the man’s hands. ‘You’ll still need your gloves.’
‘Good thing I brought them,’ the man answered.
They stood like that for a breath or two, Thorin still holding the door open while the stranger fiddled with a bit of loose tape around the handlebar.
‘Well, I have to get going,’ the man finally said.
‘Right,’ Thorin said, ‘and I have to- you know.’
The stranger smiled again and walked away.
The door shut with an unsatisfying bang behind Thorin as he trudged up the stairs, the sweat on his neck uncomfortably cold.
Another opportunity wasted.
Monday, 1:14 PM
Thorin stretched and warmed his fingers as he looked over the score to his solo piece in the second movement of the concerto for Friday night. The dangerous thing about Mozart’s music was that any diligent musician can learn to play it with ease but the lightness of touch between the notes – that infuriating playfulness – was something that only a talented musician was able to achieve. At least, Thorin thought as he arranged the score on the music stand in front of the harp, he didn’t have to have the entire spotlight to himself. Bofur and his flute – always an audience favourite – would be there, too, sharing the solos with Thorin.
He let his fingers glide over the strings, listening to the well-tuned hum that followed as he sat down. He took a deep breath and placed his fingers in the correct position and began.
He played the first sixteen bars and stopped. Not quite right. It needs to be more shy and halting, like the fingers are afraid to touch the strings. He went back and started again.
The same sixteen bars but he stopped again, feeling like he was lagging behind the beat.
Thorin took a deep breath and closed his eyes, knowing that he needed to know this by heart by Friday. He allowed his fingers to work by muscle memory and his internal beat alone. Passing the first sixteen bars, the music began to take shape as he grew more confident that he was heading in the right direction. One of his fingers slipped, souring the end of a note, but he took no notice as he continued where he needed to go, sure that he would reach the ending this time.
The last note of the movement vibrated through the room as Thorin sat back on his chair, buzzing with satisfaction. For the first time since getting the job to play the solo in Mozart’s concerto for flute and harp, Thorin wasn’t feeling like he was going to die from nerves.
Suddenly, as if from his own imagination, the sound of applause came from his open window. Two hands clapping together from some other open window in the same block of flats.
Thorin grinned, dipping his head against his chest and feeling slightly flushed. I better get used to that sound, he thought.
On a whim, he stood up and sketched a small bow in the direction of the window, the breeze cooling his still-warm cheeks.
And when he sat back down and positioned his fingers on the strings, he was still smiling widely.
Tuesday, 7:08 AM
By now, Thorin had exhausted all the different ways one could stretch one’s body after a morning run, and the bicycle still hadn’t appeared.
Sighing, he pushed through the door into the dark hallway. His eyes ran idly over the row of letter boxes, wondering which one belonged to the smiling stranger.
Tuesday, 6:32 PM
Thorin finished off his last part of the concerto with a flourish, almost snapping the strings together in his joy at finally feeling on top of the whole thing. He smiled lightly as his head naturally angled towards the open window, wondering if the music lover would be at home today.
But there was nothing but the sound of a bus going by on the street outside.
He shook his head at his own silliness as he stood up to stretch after sitting down for a full concerto. Outside on the stairs, someone was walking, the old wood creaking through the thin walls of the ancient building was a usual part of Thorin’s daily life, so he paid it no mind.
Until there was a knock at his door.
The creaking hurried away again, the sound carrying upwards as Thorin went to open his door.
There was nothing outside but a plate with two Cornish pasties, obviously homemade, sitting on his welcome mat with a folded piece of paper on top. Thorin picked up the paper and read it.
For the harpist, as a thank you. And a humble request: something by Dussek?
Thorin smiled as he looked down at that simple message. He had worried when he first moved into this block of flats with his harp that his daily playing would start to annoy his new neighbours but now… Thorin ran a thumb over the cursive thank you as he looked up to the ceiling at his unknown admirer.
He was still carrying the plate as he thumbed through Dussek’s sonatas, trying to find his favourite to play for his music-loving neighbour. Once he had decided on no. 3, he sat pouring over it as he bit into the warm, crispy pastry and the generous filling. He almost closed his eyes in bliss as he chewed. Such food deserved two sonatas, not just one.
Wednesday, 6:58 AM
‘Hello!’
Thorin looked up, his pulse still speeding as he slowed from a run to a walk. The stranger had just opened the door and was once more pushing his bike through it.
‘Hello!’ Thorin pulled at his t-shirt, hoping that it wasn’t too obviously sweat-stained. ‘Off again?’ He grabbed hold of the door as a matter of habit, allowing the man to get through without crushing his bike.
‘Yes,’ the stranger smiled as he held up one bare hand, ‘And look, no gloves!’
Thorin chuckled. ‘You risk taker, you.’
The stranger ducked his head and smiled. ‘I don’t know- it just feels warmer today. Don’t you feel warmer?’
Thorin pulled at his sweaty shirt again. ‘Very warm.’ He cocked his head as he studied the stranger, hesitating before saying, ‘but you do seem very happy. Had any good news lately?’
The stranger grinned. ‘Oh, it’s nothing. It’s just – I don’t know if you’re ever home during the day, but have you heard the harpist on the second floor?’
Thorin blinked in surprise.
The stranger continued, ‘It’s the most beautiful music, enough to lift anyone’s spirits.’ He moved closer to Thorin. ‘And he – the harpist, that is - takes requests,’ he finished with an eager nod, as if he had just handed Thorin a special present.
A flurry of thoughts had taken over Thorin’s brain, though none of them seemed to be making their way towards his mouth. His first inclination was simply to shout into the stranger’s face I’m the harpist! I’m the one making you happy! Please love me and keep feeding me pasties!, but the only statement that amassed enough brain power and forward movement to exit his mouth was a simple, ‘Oh?’
The stranger nodded as he checked the time. ‘I have to go,’ he said, his voice deflating as he turned the bike in the usual direction. But before he went, he placed a careful hand on Thorin’s bare upper arm. ‘I hope you get to hear the harpist one day. I really think you’ll like it.’ He glanced up into Thorin’s eyes for a second before walking away.
Thorin stood as if he had been nailed to the floor, staring after the other man as he mounted his bike and rode away. He brushed a hand over the sliver of his arm which still bore the stranger’s touch.
All this time, all these mornings, all these short meetings, Thorin had been trying to find the right words to give to the other man, had tried to expand their short, polite chats into something more. He had worked so long to find the right thing to say that would make the stranger look into his eyes and simply declare, ‘You. It’s you I want to know better.’
And now it suddenly seemed so simple.
Wednesday, 6:14 PM
Thorin rested his forehead against his harp and grinned as he listened to the clapping of two hands coming through the open window. Now that he knew who was doing the clapping, it had become even more dear and special to him.
Paying close attention, he heard a door shut above him and stood up at hearing the steps down the creaky stairs. He moved quickly to his own door and waited until the steps stopped just outside with a rustle of paper.
Taking a deep breath, Thorin slowly opened the door to see the stranger with the bike (though obviously without his bike at the moment) crouched down in front of his door, a plate in one hand and a piece of paper in the other.
‘Hello?’ Thorin smiled.
‘Oh.’ The stranger’s mouth fell slightly open. ‘Oh.’ He blinked several times. ‘It’s you.’ He stood up, still grasping the rim of the plate and crinkling the edge of the folded paper. ‘You’re the harpist.’
Thorin nodded, his mouth twitching with the beginnings of a smile. ‘Yes, I am.’
‘Uhm, good.’ The stranger nodded quickly. ‘That’s…good.’
Thorin stood back from the doorway. ‘Do you want to come inside?’
‘Yeah.’ He gestured slightly with the plate. ‘This is getting hot.’
Thorin took the plate from the stranger and deposited it on his kitchen counter. When he turned around, he saw the other standing still in the middle of the room, staring at the harp.
He noticed Thorin looking and tore his gaze away from the instrument. ‘Sorry, this is just…wild, you know? I’ve only been working from home for little less than a week, but I’ve already gotten to know more about you in that time than the entirety of the last 6 months of our random meetings on the door stoop. Except I didn’t know I was getting to know you, you know?’ He stared at Thorin for a second before shaking his head. ‘You don’t look like a harpist.’
‘You’re not the first to tell me.’ Thorin shrugged. ‘But I like playing.’
‘And you’re good!’ the stranger hurried to say, ‘very good! Like, concert level good!’
Thorin chuckled. ‘That’s a reassuring thing to hear since I’m playing a concert two days from now.’
The stranger glanced down at the sheet music. ‘Oh, right.’
Thorin bit his lips shortly before it burst out of him. ‘Do you want to come?’
The stranger’s brow furrowed. ‘Come?’
‘To the concert?’ Thorin felt his courage flagging. ‘Because the musicians always get free tickets so it wouldn’t be a big deal at all if you wanted to go. It’s just- you seemed to like the music…’ His voice grew quieter. ‘But it’s no pressure if you don’t want to.’
The stranger smiled for the first time since entering the flat. ‘I’d love to go.’ He took a step closer. ‘But only if you’d let me cook us dinner after the concert?’ His smile grew warmer as he gazed up at Thorin.
Thorin couldn’t help but grin. ‘That would be nice.’ He gestured at the plate on the counter behind him. ‘You want to have the dress rehearsal now?’
The stranger nodded. ‘Just let me run up and get my plate.’ He turned around and moved towards the door.
‘Wait!’ Thorin called after him.
The stranger tensed in the open doorway and turned slowly around. ‘Yes?’
Thorin shrugged self-deprecatingly. ‘I don’t even know your name.’
‘Oh!’ He let out a breathy laugh. ‘It’s Bilbo. Bilbo Baggins in 4A.’
Thorin held a hand to his chest. ‘Thorin Oakenshield in 2A.’
Bilbo grinned as he pointed a finger at the bronze name plate on the door. ‘Yeah, I kind of guessed already.’
And he turned to spring upstairs, the creaking wood a fine accompaniment to the string of Thorin’s harp as he gave it a clear and triumphant pluck.