Edited 4/2021

It started out as an escape from home life to disappear like a magic trick, hidden behind smoke and mirrors. Picking one of the most complex musical instruments to learn to play. The violin. His mother was delighted in the fact he caught on to it pretty fast. But he was happy because he spent more time at his teacher's house than at home. One less pair of eyes to hide her infidelity from; his father was disappointed that his son's time was spent elsewhere. More to say, his son's attention was on other things besides him. Yet his father had no issues in signing the teacher's paycheck or paying for the very best violin money could buy.

Now it's something to relax with. Losing himself in the music after a long day at work. Listening to the part of his soul he never shares with anyone else. Only these walls of his cheap apartment knew what his soul and heart really look like. Silent whispers of the lyric to the song that he swore were written for his family life. Only a few details were off.

He smokes cannabis in front of his parent since he took it from his father's stash. When Niki was high, he taught his son how to smoke it. Plus, show him how to cooks it in food. That Niki slips to his wife, Kisa.

His mother was the one with the countless sluts. Too many faces and names Saruhiko couldn't keep track of all of them. She was the one who married into the Fushimi family for the money. Which was more or less there. Yet the perfect family photo and well-kept front cover up the debts from Niki's gambling and drug problem.

"I hate that word 'problem,'" Saruhiko remembers his father's words to him when he was only five. Being held in his arms as they watch their bedroom burn up in flames. "Problem can be solved. That's why they are called problems. So you can fix them. But I don't want to be 'fix' since I'm not broken. Wanna know what I have to say to this. Fuck it all."

Hearing Niki's voice in his head. The louder Saruhiko played. Not caring if it's the dead of night. Pouring his soul into every string... Every note. Until he finishes the song.

"Perfect until they see through the curtains of lies." Taking a short break to drink from his water bottle. His sharp ears picked up a soft sound of someone else up at this ungodly hour.

Leaning into the wall that carried the tone he was just fooling around with just a moment ago. A bass guitar echoes sound pretty good. Whoever was playing knew what they were doing.

The apartment beside the one that hides the dark past of the kind yet broken soul held its own secrets to tell.

Another story of a boy moved away from home; he said to get away from it all. When he was only fourteen, and drop out of school.

His single mom loved him. But need to look after her other children and new husband more. They parted on good terms, and once in a blue moon, Misaki would return to see them.

He learned how to play with a friend, who was learning how to play out of boredom. Yet Misaki kept it going. Liking the sound of the bass guitar more than the acoustic guitar his friend was learning to play at the time.

Misaki never wrote any songs himself, only fooled around with a cover of songs he knew or heard at the bar he works at night.

Being Monday night into Tuesday morning, HOMRA was closed. Being too restless to fall asleep. Misaki was lying in his bed, reading over an action sports magazine. When he finally heard his neighbor beside him. Misaki always believes no one actually lived there since he never heard anyone moving around there, nor did he see lights on. Until tonight that is.

Misaki didn't know the song that was being played. He didn't recognize the sound from the instrument that was being played. The only thing he knew was it felt sad..as he felt a tear fall on his hand.

Working around all kinds of music for open mic night or whatever was played on the old jukebox. Misaki knew a lot of music. But this tune ripped his heart out all at once. He only hears a few notes, picks up his guitar, and follows along until he gets the tune down. Slowly and softly playing beside the person next door. Until their two musical instruments were in perfect sync with each other.

Jamming together until pounding on their doors and screaming curse words, stop the fun for the night.

The time gave Saruhiko just enough time to sleep until it was time for work. Nothing really changes or so out of routine for the twenty-year-old. More or less time to sleep, breakfast with an energy drink. Out of the routine was printing off the music sheet with lyrics from the song he played last night. Small, simple note. "You play well." Sliding it under the apartment next to his door. Before leaving for work.

Dealing with long eight-hour plus work shifts. Due to a co-worker not wanting to actually work. Yes, less work for them, yet more work for him. Dealing with even louder people on the bus ride home. Walking into his apartment building to the sight of a father with his handful of screaming kids. His face reads, 'where the hell is your mother?'

Checking his mail just adds to his misery as there was a letter from his mother. Not bothering to open it. Just quickly writing 'return to sender' on it before sticking it back to be returned. Walking up the stair, turning the corner to see a reusable bag hanging from his door. "Thanks, you play really awesome. I never smell anything cooking over there. So here some instant noodles. Maybe we can jam together again? I'm only off on Monday nights." The note is pinned to the bag.

Sadly, there will never be anything cook in his tiny kitchen for two reasons. It was pointless to cook for one person. Second, Saruhiko couldn't boil water even if his life depends on it.

Sliding one last note under the door before entering his place. A simple, straight-to-the-point note. "Maybe."

A single 'maybe' turn out to be an every Monday night event. Jamming to the songs, they are swapping under each other's door. Work schedule never letting them meet in person. Only the paper-thin walls between their personal space let them share their music together.