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Just a cold evening as usual. I thought playing some piano would fill the void of silence that has come over this house, I need to share my mind, dear reader. The empty halls feel cold. The windows have been tinted by his negligence. The silence has been reinforced by his cold gaze. When I look at the man I married, I only see… Grey. It’s such an empty color. And it breaks my heart. No, not just break, it lights up in flames, doused in cold gasoline before it’s lit up and burned to ash, that blows away in the wind. Every cold gaze, every shrug, every time he dared to ignore me. Me, his husband.
(Ace sighs, his hands pausing on the keys. His eyes are tired and his posture slumped. But still, his suit is impeccable, his linen shirt pressed, his hair neatly combed back. His tie hanging from his neck. A man of status. He lifts his head, his hands moving to rest on his knees as he looks into the distance.)
I miss the times where it was different. Every time I would come home early, I would prepare you one of your favorite dishes. I didn’t mind caring for you. It brought me hope. I pray to whatever to see your eyes light up in that same way, the sparkle in your eyes reigniting with love, for me. You would walk over to me in the kitchen, and hug me tightly from the back. Nuzzle your chin in my neck. Every time that same ticklish feeling. I would chuckle and place a kiss on your cheek. And say that dinner was almost ready. And it felt good. So SO good. The warmth that bled out my heart, spreading over my chest, felt peaceful. Like the sun itself was shining just for us. I would close my eyes and just bathe in your touch. I would hear the pot simmer on the stove, smell the fresh bolognese sauce that i had prepared just for you, with extra pepper, just the way you liked it. You would dip the back of a spoon into the sauce and hum. Perfect… Is what you called it, just like me.
And now… I’m here, playing the piano, my hands move over the keys… but the tunes sound wrong. Cold, distant. Like the person playing the notes is not present as a physical manifestation. I don’t know anymore. I don’t know if it’s me anymore either.
The one that greeted you with a soft smile and a glass of your favorite wine by the door. That would kiss your cheek with a soft chuckle, because you reminded me of home. Of safety. Of peace. Darling, I don’t know what to do anymore. I don’t know if I want to keep going with this. Because I know for a fact, that the second you walk through those doors, you will not pay me one single glance.
I’ve set the table. Two bowls, two crystal glasses for the wine that will be poured. Two bowls for the entrée. A soup. The two bowls are stacked on top of a proper dinner plate. For the seared salmon that is currently in the oven, waiting to be eaten with some mashed potatoes. And a delicious holandais sauce. And for dessert we f–
(The door unlocks. With a soft crack and slammed shut. Making Ace flinch behind the piano being dragged out of his monologue)
“Darling, is that you?”
(Ace stands up from behind the piano and walks to the hall. Aaron has arrived from work. He watches from the top of the stairs. Looking at how he carelessly kicks off his shoes, assuming that Ace would clear his mess.)
“What’s for dinner?”
(Aaron walks upstairs pushing past him already, not looking Ace in the eyes. His eyes lock onto the dinner table as he walks over and sits down, and starts unceremoniously shoveling food on his own plate.)
“Okay, ehm, so I’ve prepared some–”
“Can you keep quiet for once in your life, Ace? I’m tired, can’t you see that?”
(Ace frowns, freezing up as a breath gets lodged in his throat. He walks over to his own seat at the table. But he doesn’t sit down. Just stands over him, his hands gripping the backrest of the chair like he wants to choke the life out of it.)
“Sorry, but am I a liability to you? It feels like you just barely tolerate me every now and then these last months.”
(Ace speaks up, his voice shaking just slightly. No tears are falling, but a broken and desperate smile plays on his lips. He waits for an answer. Aaron pauses, a fork halfway up to his mouth. The air thickens. And he feels it too, this is not just another fight. This anger inside Ace, this hurt, has been stewing in him for a while. He doesn’t look at him.)
“Do we have to do this now? You’re being dramatic.”
(Ace’s shoulders sink. His eyes widening in desperation.)
“Being dramatic?”
“Yes, what more do you want from me? Oh thank you husband, for doing the bare minimum I expect of you. Do you want me to thank you for the meal? Fine, thanks. Did I forget something else?”
(He feels nauseous from the way he’s spoken to. He slowly sits down, searching for his eyes. But Aaron doesn’t look up, he picks up his fork again and puts it to his mouth, continuing like nothing happened.)
“You forgot to love me…”
(And finally, Aaron looks up, not before he chokes on his food a bit. But his tired eyes meet his.)
"Ace, that's not fair... You know I've been busy. You don't know anything of what I've been going through."
"Look, I just need to know if the things I do for you aren't just... That! With no purpose. Because I feel like I'm trying so hard for you to just acknowledge me. But each evening when the front door opens and slams shut, when you enter, the temperature of our house drops twenty degrees."
(Aaron sighs and puts his fork down, suddenely less hungry. He speaks calmly, like talking to a child. But his tone is ice cold.)
"God, you're so good at blowing every little thing out of proportion. Everything was fine, and then you just ruin the mood. Was it really worth it, Ace? We could've been eating dinner together. But no, you decided that it was not good enough for you."
"I..."
(Ace suddenly feels very small. Is he exagerating?)
"I'm sorry... Forgive me, please. I don't know what came over me, love."
(And Aarons frown softens into a faint smile. He won.)
"Eat, and keep your pretty mouth shut, okay? It's better for the both of us anyway."