It wasn't until the weekends rolled in that Francis realised that he hadn't played his saxophone for a very long time.

Francis was reading Trombones Are Blue when this odd feeling occurred. He got this sudden sense that he should probably do something more productive rather than just sit around.

Should he? Well, he had been feeling fine recently, and it had been a long time since he'd been feeling self conscious. He'd been seeing Dr. Turner every fortnight, too, and… fine, perhaps his feelings towards Arthur were unclear, but to be fair, nothing was always under control, and compared to past situations this was just a minor hiccup.

In other words, this should be the perfect situation to do something productive. But what could he do to keep himself busy? Was there anything really worth doing? Would doing something solve anything? Was it worth-

Francis stopped his train of thought. No no, this train of thought wasn't helpful. It always appeared when he felt he should be doing something rather than sitting around aimlessly. The last time that had happened was when he started to busk outside of the apartment, thinking that his feelings could be solved through that. But no, forcing himself to do something he didn't want to would only fuel his anxiety and solve nothing.

Even though Francis knew that sitting around wasn't an efficient method to keep himself content, the awareness of this cycle hadn't come until now - rather, it had always passed by like the changing of the seasons. Though there was noticeable change, the background nature causes one to only notice them when they focus.

The process was cycling over again. He needed to do something to break out of this, he had to do something to break out of this -

No, it was beginning again. He shook his head. Submitting to his anxieties' demands would do nothing in solving his problems.

Francis drew a deep breath in, and allowed himself a smirk. Take that, anxiety.

He put down the book and twirled his thumbs. If Arthur could reconnect with his family, he could surely do something – get a musical job, maybe. But first, he needed to allow himself to enjoy playing music again rather than making it feel like a chore. To start off with, he could go play his saxophone. He hadn't done so in such a long time, and his fingers were almost aching to feel his instrument's smooth keys again.

Walking to the other side of the living room, where his instrument rested, Francis picked up his saxophone case before carrying it to the coffee table.

The buckles snapped open with two bright, clear clicks, causing Francis to breathe out a sigh of satisfaction. As the fibreglass case creaked open, its familiar, comforting scent escaped and swirled into the air. It was a distinct, familiar smell woven together by his saxophone's metallic scent and the wax used to polish the golden surface. Floral undertones accompanied the comforting scent— Francis always liked to use perfume to deodorise the cases, so the aroma was always embedded within the violet felt linings of the case. His saxophone lay in its bed, gleaming as the afternoon sunlight shone on its golden surface.

Francis smiled as his fingers glided across the cool, smooth parts - the neck, the body, the keys. Soon, he decided that he was ready to play, so he popped the pieces out of the case before assembling them.

What piece could he play? Francis wondered as he tapped his foot. His instincts pulled him to search through his folder, but then he remembered how most of its pieces were now ripped apart, leaving only Autumn Leaves and In a Sentimental Mood.

Both of them were pieces he had memorised anyway, so he didn't need to fetch his folder. (Where was his folder? Probably hidden somewhere in the apartment. Oh well, he could find it later.) Francis stroked his stubble. How about In a Sentimental Mood? Certainly, he could play that. Francis stood up as he prepared to play the tune. Closing his eyes, he drew a deep breath in, blew through the mouthpiece and felt the saxophone's song chorus through his mind, his body, his soul.

Arthur huffed as he dropped his shirt back into the bathtub. Four cleaning methods down and the blood stains on his new suit still remained. Even if it seemed alright from a distance, a faint, brown stain was visible the closer one came. How women were able to clean period blood out of their clothes, he didn't know.

It wasn't until he read an article about blood washing tips that he learnt cold water must be used as warm water would make the blood stain permanent. Arthur stared at his phone and slapped his wet hand— quite warm, adding insult to injury — onto his forehead. Well, fuck. That piece of advice would've been useful at the start! With a forceful exhale, Arthur dropped the shirt back into the tub and collapsed onto the bathroom tiles, the cold surface penetrating through his shirt and chilling his back. It came to him that the bathroom tiles hadn't been cleaned in a while so he sat back up.

Ugh. He wrinkled his nose and glanced back at the tiles. Luckily he was the only resident so it would only be his own germs, just multiplied and all that.

It was odd, Arthur realised. He used to clean the house during the weekends to make up the empty hours and solitude, sometimes twice on particularly lonely Sundays. But now that he spent time with Francis as well as Gilbert and Antonio, he had completely forgotten to do his excessive cleaning routine anymore.

Francis. At the thought, Arthur's stomach flipped - no! No. He's just a friend, he wouldn't be interested, they're not ready - fuck, why does that last argument have to come up every time?! They were friends, and that was that. Whatever happened after the night at Arthur's house was just a result of several months prior of no socialisation — he was just taking his friendship too seriously. Yeah, that must be it.

Arthur drew a deep breath in to ground himself back in reality. Breathe in, breathe out. And repeat, until he was out of his labyrinth of his mind and back into his bathroom, where his new suit soaked in a bathtub of soap suds.

He frowned as he lifted the hem of his suit. He really liked this suit, and it would be a shame to discard it. Maybe he could dye it to hide the stains.

The sound of the saxophone echoed through the walls. Arthur turned around, looking past the bathroom door and the front entrance, where it came from.

Francis. He was playing his saxophone again!

Arthur stood up and walked out of the bathroom door. He left his apartment and pattered up the concrete stairs to Francis' storey, following the sound of the saxophone.

The sound was so clear now. Like a moth to a flame, Arthur found himself walking up to the door. Leaning against the door, he smiled as he listened to the melody of the saxophone. Its gentle, wavering, even playful song lilted with the feather light tunes only Francis could make. Arthur let out a peaceful sigh as he leaned his back onto the door, closing his eyes as the music surrounded him, as warm, soothing and gentle as that warm summer breeze so many years ago. That Summer breeze that swept past as he slept on a bed of dandelions under the lazy afternoon sun.

For a second, he was home.

Arthur snapped open his eyes. He grasped his chest, painfully conscious of the throbbing feeling within. Christ, what was he thinking? What was he doing? Walking to Francis' storey to listen to his saxophone music, leaning on the door? What if someone saw him? What if Francis saw him? Anxiety filled his head at the latter thought. Francis would be so confused, hell, what if he saw him as a creepy stalker and-

Don't be ridiculous. Francis was his friend, alright? He'd raise an eyebrow and laugh it off and ask Arthur to come in… well, Arthur had to admit, that'd be nice.

Again, Francis was his friend, he reminded himself. Nothing more, nothing less. What? Did enjoying his music suddenly make him…

No no, goddammit, he wasn't in love with Francis. He rubbed his face. Good grief. No, he was not in love, thank you very much. It was just this weird… crush. Admiration. Realising that this was exactly what someone in denial would say, Arthur let out a groan. As a hot flush spread across his face, Arthur paced downstairs back into his apartment, trying his best to regard the saxophone sounds as only music.

Music was music, wasn't it, Arthur? Some teasing part of him asked. Arthur sighed.

True, music could move people. But that didn't have anything to do with his crush, nor would he let it change his relationships.

INSANE apologies for the long wait! I had so many assignments due at school, plus YouTube proved to be a good distraction. Shortest chapter I had in a while but I think that it's a good breath of fresh air after the last few chapters.

Thanks GokuSuperSaiyanTime for editing this chapter!