Stefan
The lights were lowered, enough to draw attention forward. Conversations softened, then stilled, the murmur of the room giving way to something quieter, more focused.
Kieran straightened in his seat beside me as the first notes of the organ filled the air, and even in the dim light, his smile said it all. The music carried through the space, a rousing triumphant sound. In the darkness, his hand found mine, and he laced our fingers.
When the piece came to an end, the applause was rapturous.
I’d been here before, many times. The programme was familiar, its structure, the flow of it, even most of the performers.I knew what was coming next, what should have held my attention.
Whatusuallyheld it, at any rate.
I’d bought the tickets months ago, intending to take Cole. He would have appreciated it. He could even be in the audience. But I knew from experience that plans should be written in sand, not etched in stone.
I glanced at Kieran. He was leaning forwards, drawn into the music in a way that was entirely unselfconscious. And it was then I realised something had changed. The music was still there. I could follow it without effort, anticipate its turns, recognise its phrasing before it fully arrived. But it felt distant, secondary.
My focus kept returning to him, to the way he responded to it, the changes in his expression, those moments where something caught him, held him, before releasing him again.
I knew those moments. I’d experienced them myself, countless times. But seeing them reflected in someone else—seeing them inhim—was new.
I became aware that I was no longer listening in the way I usually did. The music wasn’t washing over me, but moving around something else.
Something more immediate.
I let out a slow breath, my gaze lingering on him for a moment longer than necessary.
This is not what I expected.
And yet it felt right.
I leaned back, allowing the music to continue without me for a moment. For once, it wasn’t the most important thing in the room.
He was.
The interval arrived, and I leaned into him. “Well?”
Kieran didn’t look at me, but he smiled. “This has been wonderful so far.”
I couldn’t agree more.
The final note lingered, then dissolved, and for a moment, no one moved.
Then the applause rose, warm and sustained, filling the space that the music had held so carefully only seconds before. I joined in automatically, but Kieran didn’t clap straight away. He sat there for a fraction longer, as if reluctant to let it go, as if something in him was still following the music even as the rest of the room returned to itself.
Then, slowly, he joined in, his eyes shining.
That’s it. Come back to me from wherever the music took you.
We had to move eventually.
We walked towards the exit, the atmosphere changing with every step: conversations rose again, voices overlapping, energy returning in layers. By the time we reached the street, it had shifted completely. Men stood in groups, laughter spilling into the night air.
I glanced at Kieran, his gaze moving from one group to another, taking it all in.
“There’s an after party at a bar just up the street from Romeo. Would you like to go?”
He smiled. “I’d love that.”
We strolled through the streets, taking our time. A man called out my name as we passed, a quick greeting, a handbrushing my shoulder in recognition. I returned it easily, exchanging a few words before moving on.