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The piano repair shop is nestled in between a cafe and a cram school. When Xie Lian first sees it on his way home from his new busboy job, he goes inside instinctively. The smell of the shop is familiar, hints of varnish and wood greeting him as he enters. The evening sunlight that filters in through the storefront window illuminates the small tornados of dust that catch the air as Xie Lian walks inside. One of the overhead lights flickers as if in a greeting. The room has a beady, yellowish glow, and it’s quiet. There is no one else in the shop.
There are two pianos on the floor, an upright and a baby grand. The upright is finished in mahogany with some intricate detailing on the case. It looks distinguished in the dusty shop, well-cared for. The baby grand is definitely worse for wear. The lacquer is chipped in many places along the legs and cover, as if it has been jostled around. On one leg, where the paint is missing, there is a lopsided butterfly drawn in blue marker on the unfinished wood. Someone, a child by the look of the hand writing, tried carving some of the note names on the keys of the third and fourth octaves. Still, the owner cared enough to bring it into a repair shop. He smiles slightly.
Apart from the pianos, there are some stools scattered about the floor. A long table on the far end of the room holds a variety of tools. There is a counter with an old desktop and corded phone on it.
A door that Xie Lian had not noticed suddenly bursts open. It is tucked in a corner behind the counter, the same color as the surrounding wall. Xie Lian jumps slightly at the noise and takes a half step back. Through the door bustles a man from a back room, huffing slightly as he slides in behind the counter. Grey shoots through his unkempt hair and there are sweat stains spreading out from the armpits of his button down shirt. He looks at Xie Lian, eyes flickering over his ripped and stained sweater–quite hypocritically if Xie Lian allows himself to be honest–and asks, “What do you need?”
“Ah,” Xie Lian begins, smiling bashfully and balling the oversized sleeves over his fists. “Uh, no. I’m sorry. I don’t have a piano.” The man raises an eyebrow but does not say anything. Xie Lian continues, “I just passed by this shop for the first time, because it’s on my way home from work...and I used to play, even though it’s been a while…” Xie Lian trails off and huffs an awkward laugh. The man is still unsmiling, unimpressed.
“This isn’t a music shop, kid,” he says slowly, placing his hands on the counter. “You can’t come in and play on these pianos. They belong to my clients.”
A muscle in Xie Lian’s jaw twitches but his smile remains fixed on his face. “Of course, I wasn’t suggesting...I should probably leave. I’m sorry for taking up your time.”
The man cocks his head towards the door, saying nothing. Xie Lian turns and walks out.
The smell of gasoline and cigarette smoke and the city leaves Xie Lian a little bereft after the musty interior of the tuning shop. It had been a couple years since he’d played on a real piano. The skin under his fingers feels itchy, and he twists and turns the long sleeves that are still wrapped over his hands. After a moment, Xie Lian breathes in deep and makes his way home. Slowly his fingers unclench and the sleeves hang free.
It’s silly to still feel like this. He gave up his dreams of playing seriously almost ten years ago, when his life had crumbled down around him. Once he had finished high school, he immediately set to work at odd-jobs, trying to provide for his family, keeping a roof over their heads and food on the table. After a little while, he was still bouncing between jobs and overtime shifts, but there was no one left to take care of. Just Xie Lian. Xie Lian didn’t look back when he left music, and the world of classical music never came looking for him. Prodigies are replaceable, as he learned.
Xie Lian does not go inside the shop again. His encounter with the owner was unpleasant enough, and he has more important things to do than pine after pianos he may not touch. Xie Lian cannot stop himself, however, from glancing through the storefront window as he passes the shop after every shift at the restaurant. Watching different instruments come and go hurts a little, but Xie Lian never learned to shy away from pain.
It is an evening during the longest days of summer when Xie Lian walks by the tuning shop and casts a cursory glance through the window. He sees it: the Steinway grand. Everything else falls away into nothingness.
It was the piano—his piano—that he had received from his parents when he was nine. The piano that had sat in the conservatory of his home for the next eight years. The one the debt collectors had wrapped in cloth and rolled away with the other large furniture. Xie Lian had last seen the piano that day as he stood in the corner of the conservatory, watching the bizarre funeral procession of his life.
Days, weeks, and months of his life were spent shut in the conservatory with the Steinway. He would practice until his hands reached the cusp of breaking, the tendons and muscles protesting as he forced them to sculpt phrases over and over again. A fight with his body to impossible perfection. He always managed to coax his fingers and wrists back from crippling overwork. He learned his limits and stopped just short of them.
Then Xie Lian remembers the music. When he was alone the sound echoed off the stone tiles to surround him like a rising tide. The rush of excitement he felt when performing for audiences in a concert hall was like a high that he constantly chased. But concerts were fleeting and venues ever-changing. In the end, he would always come home to his piano, where he knew the exact pressure needed to make every key sing. For those eight years, there was nothing he loved more than that instrument.
Xie Lian yanks open the door and enters the shop, not fully in charge of his actions. He approaches the Steinway, fingers reaching out to run over the fallboard currently hiding the keys from view. It’s a ghost from a past life–his fingers should pass through the spectre, but skin invariably meets polished wood.
He looks at the left leg, where there should be a mark…there. A faint outline of a gash that was meticulously covered up by black lacquer can only be seen by those who know to look for it. It is a mark from when Xie Lian’s young cousin, in one of his tantrums, had barged his way into the conservatory and hacked at the piano with a toy sword he was wielding. Xie Lian does not dwell on the screaming that had followed.
Seeing his old piano again so suddenly in such a small, dusty space, Xie Lian does not know if he wants to laugh or cry. He bites the inside of his cheek. It’s been a long time since this piano belonged to him.
He is so lost in memory that when someone clears their throat, he twitches violently back from the Steinway. Xie Lian turns to the counter, apologies ready on his tongue for the presumably disgruntled owner. However, the owner is not the one standing behind the counter.
A young man is looking at him with the ghost of a smile on his lips. He is tall and lanky, with his hair pulled back into a sloppy ponytail. Xie Lian has never seen him in the shop before. Xie Lian would have remembered someone like him.
Xie Lian looks around to make sure the owner is not lurking in the corner before turning back at the counter. The young man watches him with polite curiosity.
“Can I help you, sir?” he asks.
“Sorry,” Xie Lian blurts out, “I don’t have a piano.” He takes a step towards the door.
“Wait,” the young man says. He starts to lift up his arm as if to reach out towards Xie Lian, but he drops it. “That’s okay. You don’t have to leave. If you have any questions about tuning or pianos in general, I’m happy to help.” His eyes flicker to Xie Lian’s old piano and then back to Xie Lian. “Though you may know more than me, since you already seem to be familiar with Steinways.”
Xie Lian glances down at his sneakers that have duct tape holding the soles together, his jeans with threadbare knees, and his too-large sweater hanging limply from one shoulder. Nothing about Xie Lian implies that he could even afford to be in the vicinity of a high-end grand piano.
The young man smiles at Xie Lian, and Xie Lian stops inching towards the door. He finds himself explaining, “I knew the original owners of this Steinway, believe it or not. They lived a couple cities away. I’m honestly surprised to find it here, because I didn’t think I’d ever see it again. I figured it would be stored in some concert hall or private manor now. It’s such a beautiful instrument.” Xie Lian trails off, not knowing how to say that he expected the Steinway to be sitting in ridiculous grandeur instead of a shop like this without coming across as rude.
The young man nods. “I guess it’s been on a bit of a journey since you last saw it. The owner is some bank that’s planning to auction it off soon. It hadn’t been tuned in while, so they dropped it off here. It got a bit banged up on the way though, and one of the keys broke.”
Xie Lian’s brows furrow slightly, a churn in his stomach at the thought of his piano—no, not his anymore—being damaged. “That’s unfortunate,” he said, fingers grasping at his sweater sleeves.
“Do you want to try it?” the young man asks.
“I can’t,” Xie Lian says. “It’s not mine.”
The young man holds his gaze but his cheeks seem to flush a little. “I just finished fixing the broken key this morning. It works, but it would be nice if an experienced player tested it out, especially someone who knows how it’s supposed to feel and sound.”
“I’m not that experienced, and I haven’t played in a long time,” Xie Lian counters, though his traitorous fingers poke out from his sleeve and reach towards the hidden keyboard.
The young man’s gaze is soft as he watches Xie Lian. “Gege, do you want to play?”
Biting his lip, Xie Lian looks at the door behind the counter. “Your boss...” he begins.
“He’s out for the day. I won’t tell a soul,” the young man replies earnestly. Xie Lian’s heart beats faster. It had been so long since anyone asked him to play. Maybe just this once. “I promise.”
Xie Lian cannot understand the young man’s eagerness, but it is infectious. A smile breaks out over Xie Lian’s face. “Okay,” he says.
The young man grins.
Xie Lian walks up to the piano, and gently lifts the fallboard. Reaching out, he presses lightly on a couple of the keys. A warm sound swells alive for a moment but dies down quicker than he is expecting. It seems the acoustics of the shop are not sympathetic towards a live performance. Though right now that hardly matters. Xie Lian’s fingers tingle, already spreading and curving according to muscle memory. The sound brought out with it an instinct to play that Xie Lian has not entertained for many years.
He hears a clattering and then the young man is behind him, placing a bench down in front of the Steinway. Xie Lian beams up at him, “Thank you.”
The young man is still smiling but his face is slightly flushed. He takes a couple steps back and waits silently, watching Xie Lian.
Xie Lian pulls the bench closer and sits down. He pushes his loose hair behind his ears and then lifts his hands over the keys. He pauses suddenly and looks at the young man. “I never introduced myself. I’m Xie Lian. What’s your name?”
“Hua Cheng,” the young man answers. He scrunches his eyebrows for a second and then seems to decide something. “But if you don’t mind, I’d prefer you call me San Lang.”
“Of course, San Lang,” Xie Lian says warmly. He looks back at his fingers still hanging in midair. “You’ll have to forgive me if I make mistakes. It’s been years since I played.”
“You don’t have to apologize, gege.” Hua Cheng’s voice is soft, and something warm settles inside Xie Lian. Xie Lian glances at Hua Cheng from the corner of his eye. Despite the flush creeping lower down Hua Cheng’s neck, his gaze is fixed on Xie Lian.
Xie Lian smiles slightly then turns back to the piano, lowering his fingers to the keyboard. The anticipation of playing on the Steinway again sends a prickle of nervous energy down his arms. To steady himself, he takes a deep breath and recalls a melody. It was the piece he had been preparing for a concert with the Singapore Symphony Orchestra. He had wanted a new concerto for his repertoire, and this one was so different from the Schumann he had just learned. Though he didn’t know it at the time, it would become the last piece he would work on in his conservatory with the Steinway.
Xie Lian rocks forward once, twice, feeling the starting tempo. Then his fingers finally press down on the opening chords. They ring softly in the still music shop. He leans forward into the crescendo of the opening phrase. It is his solo first. The piece grows louder until Xie Lian imagines the orchestra coming in with their melody, their moving line almost overpowering his. The music wraps up around him, pulling him in. He goes willingly.
His fingers skate across the keys as music he has not allowed himself to feel for years pour out. Once or twice, there is a fumble, a missed note. It is expected atrophy after years of neglect, but the setback feels superficial. The rest of it, the more important part, is still there. His musicality and the story he tells, bent over the keys as the tendons in the back of his hands flex, unfolding without effort.
It feels like no time has passed, but Xie Lian finds himself releasing the final chord of the first movement. As the echoes die away, he lowers his hands. They are steady, even as his heart beats wildly. He sighs, and then, remembering his audience, turns to look at Hua Cheng.
Hua Cheng is unmoving, his eyes huge and lips parted open slightly. There is wonder and something else that Xie Lian cannot decipher on his face. Xie Lian feels his face warm again under Hua Cheng’s gaze. “The keys are, um, good,” he says, fishing for something to break the silence. “I mean, you fixed them well. It feels just like it did back then.” He pauses for a second, and before he can stop himself he asks, “But you haven’t finished tuning it right? Some of the keys in the lower octaves are a little off.” Xie Lian squirms. Here he is, playing on a Steinway because of Hua Cheng’s kindness, and all he tells the man is that he had not finished his work properly.
Luckily, this startles a laugh out of Hua Cheng. “Yes, you’re right, gege. I should’ve warned you about the lower octaves. I was going to finish tuning it today.” Hua Cheng grins at him and it pulls a smile from Xie Lian. Hua Cheng continues, “But even with the out of tune keys, you’re amazing. I’ve never seen anyone play like that before.”
“Ah no, you’re too kind,” Xie Lian said while waving his arms, causing the sleeves of his sweater to unroll and flop back over his hands. “I was very lucky and had a supportive family when I was young. But then, like a lot of other kids, I had to grow up at some point and become serious. Face my responsibilities. I am happy though, to have had music for a while. Not everyone is so lucky. There’s nothing like it.”
Surprisingly, Hua Cheng’s jaw tightens. “Your music is serious, gege. Anyone can see that,” he says quietly.
“Thank you, San Lang,” Xie Lian replies, just as quiet. There is a creeping, gutted feeling, one Xie Lian cannot focus on right now, so he changes the topic. “Tell me about your work,” he prompts.
Hua Cheng smiles, and then begins speaking about life in the tuning and repair shop. Hua Cheng speaks with a sincerity and eagerness that makes Xie Lian want to watch him talk all day.
The sun had already set by the time Xie Lian remembers to check his watch. “Ah, San Lang, I’ve kept you here for too long! Your shop closed forty minutes ago.” Mu Qing and Feng Xin had also expected him home over an hour ago. Xie Lian resigns himself to an interrogation once he is home.
Hua Cheng shrugs. “I don’t mind. How often do I get the chance to talk to a real-life maestro?”
“You’re teasing again,” Xie Lian says lightly so as to not betray the embarrassment rising within him. Xie Lian does not understand how Hua Cheng makes him feel so easily laid bare. It has been years since anyone has spoken to Xie Lian like this; the attention makes him heat up under his collar.
“I’m not,” Hua Cheng replies. “I like talking to you, gege.”
“Me, too,” Xie Lian says and smiles at how that makes Hua Cheng preen. “I have to go, though, and I should let you close up.” He bites his lip then asks, “Will I see you here again?”
Hua Cheng looks surprised. “Would you like to?”
“Of course,” Xie Lian blurts out and then adds, “As long as I’m not getting in the way of your work.”
“You will never be in the way of my work.” He says it so simply, like it’s true. “When are you free?”
Xie Lian mentally reviews his schedule. “I work Mondays, Thursdays, Fridays, and Sundays at a cafe nearby. This shop is on my way home. If you're here those evenings, I’d love to see you again.”
“I’ll be here,” Hua Cheng promises.
They say their goodbyes, and Xie Lian departs. He floats home. The rush of playing and the tingling of speaking to Hua Cheng makes him feel lighter than he has in a long time. Burning even brighter is the promise that Hua Cheng and the piano await his return.
Xie Lian guiltily feeds Feng Xin and Mu Qing a lie of picking up extra hours and makes his way to the repair shop after every shift. Without fail, Hua Cheng is in the shop alone, waiting for him. The Steinway is also still there. After two weeks, Xie Lian asks Hua Cheng why the piano is still there despite being fixed and tuned days ago. Hua Cheng shrugs and says the owners were delayed in picking it up, so it was being kept in the shop for a while longer. He suggests Xie Lian take advantage of the delay, and Xie Lian does so, playing through his old repertoire from memory.
Part of him knows he shouldn’t get used to this. The shop is not a practice space. At some point the Steinway will be picked up and sold or the shop owner will discover their impromptu concerts and kick out Xie Lian for good. But he cannot stop. He keeps coming back and Hua Cheng is there every time, wrapping long fingers around Xie Lian’s wrist and leading him to the bench. Once he is done escorting Xie Lian to the instrument, he always steps back respectfully and waits in silence as Xie Lian plays whatever comes to his fingers that day. It is heady and overwhelming to have this secret space for him, Hua Cheng, and music. It pulls him in.
Some days Xie Lian focuses on scales and etudes. Other days he plays solos from sonatas or concertos like he did that first evening. And every now and then he even lets himself play fun simple little songs that his music teachers never allowed. Hua Cheng often asks about what Xie Lian plays that day. Some of his questions are serious (What does Xie Lian like about this piece?) Some are cheeky. (Those runs already sounded good, so why was Xie Lian repeating them for twenty-five minutes?) All of his questions were sincere.
Bit by bit, Xie Lian becomes used to Hua Cheng’s presence. He no longer feels flushed when Hua Cheng fixes his unwavering gaze on him or when he teases Xie Lian about his talent. He tries not to let his eyes linger for too long as Hua Cheng moves heavy parts around the shop and then uses the hem on his shirt to wipe away the sweat collecting on his shirt. He doesn’t mentally map out the arcs of his deltoids or the jagged plain of his abdomen. He doesn’t picture water flowing along Hua Cheng’s iliac crest when the latter complains about needing to shower to wash all the shop’s dust off. Xie Lian is no stranger to wanting and denial. Any hope for reciprocal desire seems as dangerous as thinking the Steinway still belongs to him.
Hua Cheng is attending a local art school, Xie Lian finds out, specializing in sculpting. At the shop, he uses extra materials to make percussive and string instruments with varying levels of usability. It is fascinating to watch him work, spare parts becoming something musical between his long fingers. At one point Xie Lian unthinkingly compliments his dexterous fingers, which causes Hua Cheng to drop the small music box he’s working on. It cracks when it hits the floor, and Xie Lian apologizes for several minutes while Hua Cheng assures him it’s not his fault.
One day, Xie Lian realizes he has never heard Hua Cheng play the piano. They are especially boisterous this evening; Xie Lian is figuring out pop songs and harmonizing them on the fly, much to Hua Cheng’s entertainment. Hua Cheng starts throwing out song requests, and it turns into an impromptu karaoke session.
While they are taking a break between songs, Xie Lian asks if Hua Cheng wants a turn to play as well.
Hua Cheng smiles. “That’s okay, gege. I enjoy listening to you.”
“I don’t want to force you if you don’t want to, but I’ve been taking up all of our time at the bench.”
“Really, gege, I don’t mind.” Hua Cheng looks away. “I don’t play.”
“You don’t play?” Xie Lian asks, surprised. “You mean you never learned?”
Hua Cheng’s expression turns rueful. “You don’t have to know how to play to tune them.”
Xie Lian leans back on the bench, lightly resting his fingers on the keys. “Would you like to learn?” he asks, tilting his head and smiling at where Hua Cheng is lounging on a stool.
Hua Cheng blinks, face flushing as it sometimes does and asks, “Is gege offering to teach me?”
“If you are interested, San Lang, I’d love to. This is a great place to practice, too,” Xie Lian’s eyes flit around the empty, dim store.”If you don’t have clients and your boss isn’t here,” he amends.
Xie Lian glances back at Hua Cheng, who’s looking down at his own hands. “I learned a long time ago that I’m really not musically talented.”
Xie Lian swings his arm out, beckoning to Hua Cheng. “Don’t say that, San Lang. No one’s born bad at music. All it takes is practice. Sometimes a lot of it!”
Hua Cheng sighs. “Okay, but you don’t know what you’re getting yourself into.” He walks over and Xie Lian scoots aside so there is room on the bench for two. Their thighs brush when Hua Cheng settles down, and Xie Lian’s brain short circuits for a moment.
Hua Cheng is right, Xie Lian doesn’t know what he is getting himself into. When he had suggested teaching Hua Cheng, he had imagined them leaning into the music together, correcting fingering and rhythms, laughing together like they usually do. Instead Xie Lian’s attention fixates on the warmth of the body next to him, closer than it had ever been. There is some sort of scent rolling off of Hua Cheng that Xie Lian never noticed before. Is it a cologne? Is Hua Cheng blessed with beautiful smelling skin in addition to a sharp jaw and thick lashes?
Xie Lian shakes his head, pulling his focus back. Things that Xie Lian never notices about others are suddenly filling up his mind and pooling heat into his stomach. He shakes his head again.
“Gege?” Hua Cheng’s question pulls him back into the present. “Are you alright?”
“Yes!” Xie Lian exclaims a bit too loudly given their proximity and the utter silence of the store. “Sorry, San Lang, just got lost in thought.” He forces a smile that Hua Cheng mirrors. “Alright, let’s begin,” Xie Lian says, rallying himself more than anything.
It does not take long for Xie Lian to understand Hua Cheng’s hesitancy to sit in front of the keys. Still, they soldier on, Xie Lian determined to find Hua Cheng’s potential and show it to him. He does not have to be a musical genius, but Xie Lian wants Hua Cheng to know that he’s allowed to try. At the very least, Xie Lian wants to train Hua Cheng out of the self-deprecating comments.
After a couple hours, Hua Cheng can play a very wobbly but jaunty variation of ‘Jasmine Flower.’ Xie Lian laughs, leaning into Hua Cheng’s side. They had drifted closer somehow, connected at the thigh and hip. Xie Lian’s head rests on Hua Cheng’s shoulder, strands of hair falling out his ponytail and probably tickling Hua Cheng’s neck. Xie Lian is in the way of Hua Cheng’s elbow but neither of them move.
“I think we should call it for today,” Hua Cheng whispers into the silence. He had turned towards Xie Lian, lips brushing the crown of Xie Lian’s head as he spoke.
Xie Lian looks at him, their noses centimeters apart. “Okay,” Xie Lian breathes out. He waits for Hua Cheng to pull away. Hua Cheng leans closer instead.
“San Lang,” Xie Lian says, licking his lips lightly. He watches Hua Cheng’s gaze follow his tongue. Suddenly Xie Lian is very confident in what he is about to do, which would have surprised him if he had the ability to think about anything other than Hua Cheng’s lips. “I’m going to kiss you if that’s okay.”
Hua Cheng swallows. “Okay.”
Both their eyes flutter closed as Xie Lian pushes upwards. The press of their lips is chaste and hesitant. It tingles. Xie Lian pulls back for a heartbeat, eyes beginning to open when Hua Cheng leans forwards again, faster, harder. The kiss is insistent now, and the growing warmth in Xie Lian’s stomach fizzles out into his hands, urging his fingers forward. They catch Hua Cheng’s shirt, fisting gently and pulling him in closer. Hua Cheng threads the fingers of one into Xie Lian’s mussed hair, earning himself a small whine from Xie Lian. His other hand drifts to Xie Lian’s hip. Then Hua Cheng’s tongue is at his lips, seeking entrance. Xie Lian’s lips part.
Hua Cheng’s tongue is hot and wet on the back of Xie Lian’s teeth. When he reaches his own tongue out to meet Hua Cheng’s, Xie Lian feels a full-body shudder run through Hua Cheng. Xie Lian’s fingers tighten and he does it again. He shifts a bit on the bench, losing focus momentarily when he feels Hua Cheng’s thumb against the skin of waist, where his shirt had ridden up. He whines again into Hua Cheng’s mouth, and Hua Cheng’s fingers flex. Every point of contact between them zaps through Xie Lian. They pull each other closer.
After some time, Xie Lian reluctantly pulls away, panting. It was harder than he thought it would be, remembering to breathe while kissing. He looks at Hua Cheng, whose eyes seem out of focus and lips glisten with their shared saliva.
Xie Lian brings up a finger, tracing Hua Cheng’s lower lip. Hua Cheng’s tongue darts out to give it a small lick in a way that seems entirely instinctual.
Xie Lian has the sudden urge to press his finger in deeper, to trace Hua Cheng's teeth and feel the soft pliant slick of his tongue. He pulls his finger back, taken aback by how far he was ready to go in the dingy light of the piano shop.
“Gege,” Hua Cheng says, his voice cracking a bit. He looks a little lost.
Xie Lian smiles, and reaches up to kiss him again, sweetly. “San Lang.”
Hua Cheng’s arms wrap around him, and Xie Lian’s face is buried in Hua Cheng’s neck.
“Do you want to grab dinner?” Hua Cheng’s voice just barely betrays a tremor.
Xie Lian nuzzles forward and replies into Hua Cheng’s neck, “I would love that.”
They finally pull apart, and Hua Cheng has the brightest smile Xie Lian has seen so far. “Let me close up real quick, gege.”
Xie Lian nods, his hand coming up again to touch Hua Cheng’s cheek. Hua Cheng’s eyes flutter close as he leans into Xie Lian’s palm. Xie Lian runs his thumb slowly under Hua Cheng’s eye. He commits to memory the shape of his cheek and soft brush of his lower lashes. After today, his hand will remember the curve of his face like it remembers the chords of his concertos.
~~~
When Xie Lian walks into the shop after his shift the next he greets Hua Cheng with a gentle, “Long time no see.”
He had ultimately spent the night at Hua Cheng’s apartment after dinner. They had sat in their booth at the restaurant for over two hours, until Hua Cheng had tentatively asked Xie Lian if wanted to come up to his place for a cup of tea.
Xie Lian had smiled when Hua Cheng beelined for the kitchen to turn on the kettle after they’d crossed the threshold of his apartment. Hua Cheng had obviously not made presumptions about hosting Xie Lian in his apartment, and so they sat on his sofa for forty-five minutes, sipping their tea and continuing their conversation from the restaurant. Once again, they found their thighs pressing together as Xie Lian recounted the most recent argument between his roommates. Hua Cheng was listening attentively, as if he cared about Feng Xin or Mu Qing, and it was so sweet that Xie Lian paused his story to set his mug down on the coffee table.
He had already swung a leg over Hua Cheng’s thighs, firmly seating himself in Hua Cheng’s lap before he paused to ask, “Is this okay?”
“Yes.” Hua Cheng's voice was revenant and carried no hesitation.
Xie Lian had surged forward and slotted his mouth and body along Hua Cheng’s. At one point Hua Cheng had lifted Xie Lian, hands firmly under his ass, and carried him into the bedroom. Xie Lian had learned the rest of Hua Cheng’s shape throughout the night.
Now, Xie Lian smiles coyly at Hua Cheng having parted ways earlier that day. However, his smile fades quickly at the expression on Hua Cheng’s face. “What’s wrong, San Lang?”
“I’m so sorry, gege. They came and picked it up today.” Hua Cheng’s expression is one of anguish.
It takes one bewildered moment for Xie Lian to realize that the place that the Steinway once stood is now empty. The hollow punch in his gut hurts much more than he expects.
It takes an extra second before he can flash a smile up at Hua Cheng. “Ah San Lang, it’s okay. We knew it would happen sometime.” Xie Lian busies himself with walking around and inspecting the other pianos. The sleeves of his sweater are balled up in his fists.
“Gege…”
A muscle in Xie Lian’s jaw twitches and he relaxes his smile a little. He’s afraid he was close to looking manic.
“Gege, it’s okay.”
“I know, San Lang,” Xie Lian says evenly. His fingers ghost over a walnut colored upright, but he doesn’t touch it. It does not belong to him.
“No, I mean,” Hua Cheng pauses for the briefest moment before continuing. “It’s okay if you’re not okay. You don’t have to pretend in front of me, gege.”
Xie Lian’s hand falls to his side and he stills. Something bitter fills his throat, making him unable to speak. He hears Hua Cheng come by behind him. A hand rests on his shoulder lightly and Hua Cheng’s thumb grazes along the delicate skin of his neck.
Xie Lian times his breaths to the slow trace of Hua Cheng’s thumb. When he feels collected enough, Xie Lian turns around and presses his face into Hua Cheng’s t-shirt. He breathes in soap, dust, and the indescribable and intoxicating scent of Hua Cheng that Xie Lian became intimately familiar with the previous night.
“Thank you, San Lang.” Hua Cheng doesn’t reply, but he hugs Xie Lian tight.
“If you don’t want to come here again, I understand.” Hua Cheng’s tone is light, but Xie Lian can hear the forced calm.
Xie Lian pushes back to study Hua Cheng’s face. Hua Cheng watches him with a carefully blank expression. “Well, I suppose I can’t practice here anymore,” he says carefully.
Something flicks across Hua Cheng’s face too quickly for Xie Lian to read. He starts to pull away. “Of course, gege. The shop is a reminder of what was taken from you. I don’t blame you for not wanting to come back.”
Xie Lian furrows his brows. “But you’re here.” Hua Cheng stops moving but he does not respond. He watches Xie Lian, so Xie Lian tries again. “You’re worth coming back to, San Lang.”
Hua Cheng ducks down quickly and buries his face in Xie Lian’s hair. Xie Lian gets a glimpse of his expression before he can hide it though, and he can’t help but smile. He strokes the back of Hua Cheng’s head.
“Although, I’d be interested in having some dates outside the shop, as well,” Xie Lian muses. “If you’re interested, I mean.”
Hua Cheng chuckles and presses his cheek to the top of Xie Lian’s head. “I’m definitely interested.”
And so they do. Xie Lian starts spending every moment he’s not working with Hua Cheng, whether it’s sitting in the shop and watching Hua Cheng’s clever fingers work or walking together in the park hand in hand.
Xie Lian moves into Hua Cheng’s apartment after a month of dating. It’s entirely too soon–according to Feng Xin and Mu Qing–and Xie Lian has never been more confident in a decision in his adult life.
He only has one duffel bag of possessions, which Hua Cheng insists on carrying for him once he exits the taxi. They walk up the stairs to the second floor, and Hua Cheng steps back to let Xie Lian enter first.
Xie Lian steps through the door, toes off his sneakers, and is barely two steps into the apartment before he stops in his tracks. Pressed up against the opposite wall and taking up too much space in the small living room is an upright piano that Xie Lian has never seen before. It’s a beautiful cherry red with scuffs in the varnish that give it character. Xie Lian walks up to it and presses down on a key. The resonance of an A4 fills the apartment, and he looks back at Hua Cheng in shock.
Hua Cheng is looking determinedly unembarrassed as he says, “I wanted to get you a welcome home present.”
Xie Lian doesn’t know if he wants to laugh or cry. He runs and practically jumps into Hua Cheng’s arms. Hua Cheng catches him with a soft oomph and holds him steady.
“I love it, San Lang. Thank you.” Xie Lian squeezes Hua Cheng as tight as he can, trying to convey even the smallest ounce he feels.
Hua Cheng sounds smug when he responds, “You’re welcome, gege.”
Xie Lian laughs and blinks away the couple tears that had gathered in the corners of his eyes. He drags Hua Cheng to sit on the bench next to him. Xie Lian plays a couple runs. Although the sound is nowhere near as grand as the Steinway, it’s softer, warmer. Perfect for its new home. His new home. Xie Lian hums appreciatively. “Already tuned.”
“I replaced all the strings, too, since they had rusted. I’ll probably need to retune it again soon since the tension is still tight. Let me know if it slips.”
Xie Lian leans his head on Hua Cheng’s shoulder. “You’ve done so much for me, San Lang.”
Hua Cheng’s fingers play with the hem of Xie Lian’s sleeve. “It’s what you deserve, gege. You and your music.”
“Even though you’re the only one who hears it?” asks Xie Lian.
“Even if no one else could hear you, it’s what you deserve. It’s so much more than any audience.” Hua Cheng’s voice is soft and serious. Xie Lian interlaces his fingers with Hua Cheng’s. “But while I’m around, gege, I’ll be there, too, listening.”
Xie Lian’s heart aches. It is almost like pain, but sweet. His fingers find the keys, and he lets out the music that is taking shape within him.