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Everyone seemed to have already gone to rest. Moran was probably smoking out on the veranda, and Louis was busy reading in his room. The company was wrapped in silence, broken only now and then by the rustling of leaves stirred by the wind outside.
But in the easternmost room, a soft light was still burning. Inside stood a piano, placed there at Albert's request as a homecoming gift for William. The instrument had become a quiet symbol, marking the return of a family member who had endured a long and heavy journey.
William sat on the bench before the piano. His back was straight, but his gaze lingered blankly on the ivory keys. His fingers twitched as if to press a note, only to hesitate and hover in the air. The piano had long gone untouched in its entirety. At times he would play a key or two in the sleepless hours, chasing away unease, but rarely did he ever complete a song.
The door creaked softly. Albert entered with quiet steps, not wanting to disturb William's stillness. In his hand was a cup of warm tea, its steam carrying the calming scent of bergamot. He placed it on the small table and stood behind William, watching his brother sink into thought.
"Why don't you play it?"
His eyes drifted to William's fingers resting unmoving on the keys.
"It's already too late. I might wake someone."
Albert gave a small smile and shook his head, his expression gentle.
"They wouldn't mind. Besides, they know how much you love music."
He sat down beside William, close enough that their shoulders nearly touched. His gaze fell on the piano keys, some of which were already veiled in dust. A pang of regret stirred in him, for he had brought this piano so William could breathe a little freer from his burdens. Yet it seemed those burdens still weighed too heavily.
"Are you reminiscing about the past?"
The question left William quiet for a moment. His lips curved faintly, a ghost of a smile that carried no real joy. In a voice barely above a murmur, he replied, "Yes… a little."
Flashes of memory flickered before him—his younger self perched on a bench too big for him, Albert at his side guiding his small hands. He had been clumsy then, often striking the wrong keys, while Albert patiently corrected his fingers. He remembered Albert’s soft laughter whenever he hit a sharp note out of rhythm.
"Sometimes I wish I could still do things perfectly, without faltering."
His eyes dropped to his hands folded in his lap. There was a long pause before he dared to speak again, his voice turning fragile, as though confessing something long kept hidden.
"I also wish that everything had gone without flaw, so I wouldn't have to show you my weaknesses."
The words caught in his chest, tangled and heavy, as if his throat refused to let them flow freely. William wasn't one to bare his heart, even to those closest to him, yet in this moment he couldn't conceal how fragile he felt. A whisper deep inside told him he mustn't appear too weak. He dreaded the day others might see him as someone easily shaken. That very thought bound him tightly, as though he were trapped inside a delicate frame he had never chosen to paint.
Albert, who had been silently watching, could sense the weight pressing down on his brother. Slowly, he placed a hand on William's shoulder, light but grounding. The simple touch was enough to draw William back from the heaviness of his thoughts. He lifted his gaze, eyes faintly glimmering.
"I know what's on your mind, Will. You're afraid others will see you as fragile, as if you're not strong enough. But believe me, that vision exists only in your head. To us, you've never been just weakness or uncertainty. You are yourself, with every side that makes you whole."
He gave William's shoulder a reassuring squeeze, his words firm yet tender.
"If you still struggle to accept yourself, then at least hold on to this truth, we accept you completely."
Albert's words fell gently, like rain soaking into dry earth, seeping into the cracks of William's guarded heart.
"Did something happen today to make you feel this way?"
William quickly shook his head. He didn't want to trouble anyone with the dark thoughts that lingered inside him.
"No. I was just thinking, and the longer I thought, the deeper I sank."
Albert tilted his head slightly, studying the shadow lingering on his brother's face. He could sense the unspoken weight behind William's faint smile. Carefully, he shifted the subject.
"Would you like me to bring you something to eat? We could talk."
William shook his head again, his eyes drawn back to the piano. He brushed a finger lightly across the wooden surface.
"Thank you, but… no." His gaze turned distant for a moment before he looked back at Albert. "Would you like to hear me play, just for a while?"
The request came so suddenly, but Albert accept it without hesitation.
"I'd love to hear you, Will."
At those words, William let his fingers finally touch the keys. The first notes fell softly, fragile as morning dew. Yet as he continued, he began to find the rhythm, and the music flowed into a calm, steady stream, filling the room with an unspoken warmth.
They sat together in the quiet night, and without realizing it, some of the weight on William's heart began to lift.