T^T I haven't dropped this I swear! I'm still not sure how to balance everything yet and writing has definitely taken a back burner. Thanks so much for reading and leaving wonderful reviews though!
Ludwig flinches at the sound of the door. He flinches at the silence that follows. It stretches through the room. Stark, tall and thin. It is a shadow at the brinks of dusk and dawn and even though he can hear the sounds of wheels and pavement and laughter below him on this beautiful day in January, everything seems stunningly dark in here.
After Mom died, Gil quickly mastered the language of silences. There was their father's angry silence when he picked Gil up from detention for placing magic grow dinosaurs in the pool gutters. There was their father's apathetic silence after Gil drunkenly tried to bounce a watermelon off of the awning and broke it. There was their father's proud silence when Ludwig received his admissions letter from his former residency, the Feinberg School of Medicine at Northwestern. This last silence, Gil knew by heart.
It's 1:27 am on Thursday morning. Gilbert sits on the ledge of the bay window. He holds a beer in one hand. It is cold. He rests his head against the glass. It is also cold. He watches the street below him. The roads look slick with frost. There were no cars tonight. He wonders if the neighbor's dog is barking tonight. He wonders if the city is quiet tonight.
He wonders if these nights were always this silent.
He takes another sip of his beer.
He is staring at rows of neatly cataloged sheet music. They line the tall black bookshelf adjacent to the piano. The bookshelf is brimming. It is full.
He is staring at his flute. He holds it in his hands. It is cold. His hands are shaking.
It's too quiet tonight.
His hands are shaking.
He puts the flute down.
He takes a sip of his beer. He is not drunk. His world is spinning. He sets his beer down. It does not taste good tonight. He sets his flute down. It's too quiet tonight.
It would have been easier if his father was angry. If he had continued to yell. If he had continued to ask, "What is wrong with you?" But it's not like Gil knew the answer to that question himself. It's not like he had a better answer then the slam of a door. It's not like he had a better answer than, "Because I'm a fuck up."
But at least he wasn't a complete fuck up. At least he was good at something. At least he and his father could agree on that.
Gil is staring at a pile of neatly torn sheet music. They litter the floor around the tall black bookshelf adjacent to the piano. The bookshelf is not brimming. It is empty. It is dim. It is still early morning.
He can't feel anything but his hands are still shaking. He tells himself this is all just a dream. He is not sure when the dream started. He walks back to his room and shuts his door. It is nearly 5 am when he goes to bed.
It's 3:13 pm on Thursday. Ludwig is sitting at the dining table. His notes and books litter around him. His laptop is in front of him. He sits on a cup of fresh coffee.
Gil walks into the room, surprised to see Ludwig. He looks around the living room. It is clean. He looks up at the bookshelf. It is still empty.
"You're home early. Don't you have class?" Gil asks. His own voice sounds more muffled than before.
"Yeah. I skipped my last two."
Gil's eyes widen. He walks closer to the table.
"It's just the second week of classes," Ludwig says.
Gil frowns as he watches Ludwig speak. He pulls a chair next to his brother. He is sitting just a little too close and staring a little too much. "You should be in class."
Ludwig shifts in his seat. This wasn't quite the reaction he expected, but then again, he didn't know what to expect from Gil after waking up to a mess of shredded musical scores. "I'm just worrie-"
Gil smiles as he grabs Ludwig's coffee cup from the table and takes a sip. "Of course, it's understandable that you missed the awesome me."
"Is everything okay?" Ludwig asks. "What happened last night?"
Gil scan's Ludwig's expression carefully, then turns away from him. He flips through a notebook in front of him. Ludwig's notes were always impeccable. Color coded. The pages are rigid from his brother's pen strokes. He wonders how crisp those pages must sound. "Who's playing at the symphony tomorrow?" His hearing is not worse. It will get better. "We should go together if there are still seats."
"What? Please don't change th—"
Gil grabs Ludwig's laptop and pulls it towards himself. He knocks a few papers onto the floor in the process. "You know what? I don't care if you're busy. We're going." He starts scrolling down the list of concerts at the Chicago Symphony Orchestra. "Brahms and Wagner are good and I'm sure even you know Mozart. Where do you want to sit?" He looks over at Ludwig, who is picking up the notes Gil knocked over. Before Ludwig can form another thought, Gil shoves the laptop back to its owner. "Actually, surprise me. It'll be you're treat."
Ludwig sighs as he takes his laptop back. He decides to drop the subject for now. He hadn't seen Gil this energetic in a while. "Fine," he says as he selects a rather expensive pair of floor seats.
Gil leans back in his seat and watches the computer screen carefully. "Nice." He smiles at Ludwig and says, "This is why your my favorite brother," Then gets up and walks back to his room with Ludwig's coffee.