Tired eyelids slowly separated his consciousness from the engulfing warmth of the blankets, wrapping him up like a caterpillar in its chrysalis. Except in this case, there was no future beauty that would emerge from the enclosure as a butterfly.
Will grumbled incoherently as the rays of sunlight punctured his comfortable unconsciousness, urging him to slowly tear his apathetic form from his warm bed so that he could make up more use of his time.
His once-golden, now brassy, disheveled waves of hair drooped down past his ears, the backside almost reaching his shoulders, easily depicting the metaphorical eons since his last haircut. Dark bags hugged the underside of his dull, once sky-blue eyes, which now more resembled the shade of cumulonimbus clouds, racing across the sky, interrupting the beautiful weather of springtime; an opaque, ominous grey but still holding a hopeful tint of blue atmosphere laying underneath the darkness.
He trudged across the carpet of the small single apartment in his underwear, not that it mattered, since no one else was ever in the secluded area anyways. Well, except for his landlord popping in every other month or so to remind him that his rent was due, and the occasional delivery driver.
Fortunately enough, or unfortunately, in Will's point of view, he was still a student, but his father funded his education despite the former's emotional state eradicating any desire to continue along his path, instead opting to live out his life in solitude and despair. So, he only had a roof over his head because he came from a family with privilege. He hopped around from part-time job to part-time job, never able to keep a commitment longer than a few weeks because of his "lack of customer and patient interaction", his "rebellious silence", and his "refusal to follow directions promptly".
What caused him to go from the happy-go-lucky person he was in undergrad to the emotionally devoid person he was today, he did not know, but what he did know that under all of the layers of detachment, he wished he could think and feel the way he did before. Something had been lost in the storm of his maturation.
As he opened the grease handprint-covered refrigerator to grab the bowl of chilled, MSG-filled, instant noodles from last night's interaction with his trusty microwave, he struggled to find something to focus on. Clouded blue eyes settled on, for the thousandth time, his graceful "surgeon hands", as his father liked to put it. No matter how anxious or excited he was, his hands were always as steady as the slow ticking of the wall clock above the kitchen window, ever-present.
The weathered, hand-carved bamboo chopsticks his dad had brought back from one of many expeditions to the enormous, outside world were of almost no interest to him, the intricate carvings almost completely worn away from years of extended use. The single wooden table with two chairs, one of which was completely cluttered with textbooks and school materials, acted a monument of his solitary life. He pushed aside a pair of sweatpants and a hoodie from the chair and plopped down in the seat, chopsticks at the ready.
He quietly slurped up the cold noodles and contemplated what he was going to do today. Searching for another job held no interest for him, as he had no more people or businesses he was willing to contact. He had no drive to search for what would probably wind up being another 10-day occupation before leaving again, only to be hit with another wave of self-loathing.
There was nothing for him to do inside his apartment - he had already tried everything from art to yoga, and nothing interested him at all. The only thing that he might be able to do on his own lay outside of his domain, and without the friends that he had lost contact with so many years ago, with every passing second the action seemed more and more daunting. Despite the mental haze, the fatigue, the constant fight against lethargy, some part desperately wanted to do anything, something, as long as it would get him away from here.
Will dug around in yesterday's hoodie pocket for his disposable vape, drawing in smoke and chemicals until he could no longer inhale, before finally releasing a cloud of watermelon-scented poison. The small buzz that he got from a single hit a day was nowhere near enough to get him on his feet like before, but it was familiar, and it felt good, unlike anything else in his life.
As he watched the smoke tendrils rise up past the cracks of sunlight seeping in through the blinds, Will thought about everything that held him back. His mental state, his lack of willpower, nonexistent motivation, the constant looming loneliness that always left him feeling colder than he liked. After what felt like an indefinite period of time, he still somehow managed to get fully dressed, bundling up relatively warmly for the freshly introduced fall season, and closed the door with phone, keys, and wallet in pocket.
Immediately, a freezing gust of wind blasted his visage with the smell of dried leaves and the despair of freshmen starting school, reminding him of why, outside of attending class, he did not often venture outside the closed door of his fourth-story floor. Will slowly descended the old, dusty staircase and finally left the apartment complex of his own free will. For him to go anywhere required him to step into the metro system, and luckily for him, his father was more than willing to fund his transportation costs as well.
Dragging his feet along the sidewalk, Will walked slowly past the rushing businessmen and women, the chattering tourists who were eager to explore the bustling city, the quiet everyday people who minded their own business, head down and hands in pockets, and before long, he finally reached the benches by the subway where people waited for their arriving subway car.
While the so-called "rat racers" took part in the daily rush-hour cramming into the fully packed cars, Will sat off to the side, waiting for the number of people to mostly die down before he attempted to obtain one of the abstractly colored subway seats. People left and right bumped and jostled him, the occasional person stepping on his visually new running shoes. Despite the fact that Will had had the shoes for four years, the ever-bright neon colors gleamed with the rays from the overhead fluorescent lights illuminating the large mass of moving people. It had truly been much too long since he had been out on his own.
In his full-blown apathy and isolation, Will suddenly heard a resonating, methodical sound that had not been part of his life since he was a child: the sound of a guitar being tuned. Gentle fingers somewhere in the room plucked at the strings, slowly adjusting the keys on the end of the fingerboard to the desired angle and sound. Will perked up, knowing that where there was guitar tuning, there was sure to be music. A couple of major and minor chord progressions broke through the bustling, chaotic sounds of the crowded station as Will listened intently for what would come later: a few strums and soon, the melody of a song. Will scanned his surroundings, frantically searching for the source of the sound. It had been much too long since he had last heard the soul-searching expression of an artist and their instrument.
A silky, lilting, angelic voice floated above the other muted and chattering voices in the crowd, drawing Will's attention to the corner of the terminal. The only thing he could see was an open guitar case and a pair of white Adidas tennis shoes, so he cautiously stood up and shifted a few benches over so he could gaze upon the producer of this harmonious melody.
At long last, he had finally found the object of his attention. A raven-haired young man, slightly hunched over his instrument, his shaggy locks slightly covering pale and ethereal features filled with emotion, as he poured his very being into the lyrics of the song. A worn leather jacket was draped over his shoulders, bony wrists slightly poking out of the cuffs. He shifted his position, and black skinny jeans creased as he shifted to better suit his singing technique.
Will knew the song the musician was playing. It had been an old favorite of his, now a few years old, but still one of his favorites by a contemporary artist. The breathtaking rendition of this age-old song had Will's gaze glued to the graceful guitar player as he took in every single ounce of the music.
"I don't want you to leave, will you hold my hand?" the musician sang mournfully, scanning the room before his eyes suddenly locked onto Will's. Will's blue eyes betrayed his surprise at being noticed and he immediately looked away, a bright red blush quickly spreading across his cheekbones and nose. He shyly glanced back to see the dark-haired man slightly smiling back at him, continuing on with the song as his eyes said, don't go away, just sit and enjoy for a bit.
"Oh, won't you, stay with me?" Long lashes gently touched raised cheekbones as the singer closed his eyes, loss and pain so strongly etched into his expression that Will could almost swear that these words came from somewhere deep within his own soul. Dark, coffee brown eyes once again met Will's storm-filled blues, and this time, they watched each other through their windows of the soul, exploring the other's pain from a distance without saying a word to the other person as the music almost faded into the back of Will's mind.
They sat like that for an indeterminable amount of time, watching the other through little glances and almost playing a version of peek-a-boo, as the music played while passengers boarded and exited subways in the background. Occasionally they'd make eye contact again, Will would watch as the mysterious man's eyes twinkled at him, and then the musician would once again shake his long black curls over his eyes, breaking their visual exchange and return to the song.
After what seemed to have been much too short of a time interval, the people cleared out and the music lulled to a stop. Will found himself sitting there three hours later, heart completely changed from the moments before he heard the music, and felt a sudden urge to leave the station despite being completely intrigued by this new person he had met. He moved to leave, but then felt like he could not leave without truly acknowledging the musician's contribution to his uplifted spirits.
So, Will slowly stood turned and stepped towards the enchantingly gorgeous man for the first time. The dark haired man had just about finished packing up his microphone setup, but turned around when he heard Will's footsteps approaching. Before the musician could react, Will leaned down and dropped an uncreased hundred-dollar bill from his wallet into the musician's open guitar case, which was otherwise scarcely filled with scattered one-dollar bills and various coins.
As the other man's eyes widened in shock, and he moved to grab the money, Will quietly murmured, "Thank you," with all of the emotion that he could muster, and quickly dashed towards the departing subway car.
"Wait, I can't take this much from-" Will heard the musician exclaim behind him as the doors shut between the station and the metro car.
As Will settled down into his seat, and the subway pulled out of the station, he turned back to look at the mysterious man, and watched his face contort from disbelief, to confusion, and then finally to wistfulness before fading out of view in the crowd of people.
In that same moment, those hauntingly blue eyes through the window sped off into the distance, people filling the newly created space as the musician looked up to watch one of the only two people that had ever made him feel special, even if just for a moment.