Enrique

I looked at myself in the mirror with mild discomfort. I wasn't against dressing up on occasion, but my nerves were starting to get to me, causing me to sweat on top of having to wear a suit vest. My hair wasn't staying where I wanted it to, repeatedly falling back in my face, my tie looked like it was done by a twelve year old and I was pretty sure I had accidentally grabbed my brothers shoes, which were too small for me, meaning my feet were currently on fire and I hadn't even started walking yet.

Maybe this whole thing is a bad idea, I questioned to myself, debating if it was too late to just go home. On top of the fact that I was uncomfortable as hell, I didn't want to break Oliver's concentration and mess him up, something I had spent part of my teen years actively trying to do.

Rolling the sleeves of my dress shirt up in an attempt to cool myself off while pretending that it was just the current style, I stepped back in order to get a better look at myself. Although my hair wasn't cooperating and I would have pit stains within the next hour, I couldn't say that I didn't at least somewhat clean up nicely. I mean, I didn't look ready to meet with the Queen of England or anything, but I would probably blend in fine among whatever crowd came to watch a symphony orchestra perform.

Running a comb through my hair one more time, I sighed as my bangs sprang back into place yet again, accepting defeat and stepping out of the hotel bathroom, grabbing my wallet and phone before making my way into the eerily silent hallway and over to the elevator.

He probably didn't want to see me. If he did, he would have called or at least sent a text like he had told me he would. I had thought about calling him back again, wondering if maybe he'd just forgotten or ended up working late that night and was tired before accepting the reality of the situation: He didn't want to talk to me. Now all I could do was remain a part of the background, watching him from afar in order to figure out what else I had missed within the past five years. I hadn't even known he had joined a symphony orchestra and wouldn't have if I hadn't seen it marked on his bedroom calendar the night I had made the second stupidest decision of my life. I had gone to Paris in order to try and rekindle our friendship that day, not to have the most intimate moment of my life with the person who had once been my best friend. I should have put a stop to it as soon as he had started unbuttoning my shirt, believing like a fool that his consent meant that the act itself was okay.

I had fallen for the call of the Sirens and had put my hands on him, never wanting to forget how soft his skin was or the noises he made when I nibbled at his neck. He had drooled down the corners of his mouth when he licked at my lips, tongue gaining free reign of the inside of mine like new land waiting to be explored. Now it was a memory that would be attached to me for the rest of my life, whether I liked it or not. I had bitten the forbidden fruit and had to pay, causing even more of a gap in our relationship instead of bringing us closer together.

Fidgeting from one foot to the other, I hobbled off of the elevator and into the foyer, keeping my hands in my pockets and my eyes on the floor. I wasn't hiding, but I still couldn't part with the shame I felt for everything I had done to hurt him. I had nothing to offer outside of my support and I hadn't even told him I was coming today, hoping that he wouldn't notice me in the crowd while also hoping that he would. It was clear he didn't want to be around me anymore and that was something I had to respect, but I could watch him from a distance just this once. A final goodbye that he didn't even know he would be giving me.

Stopping a taxi with relative ease, I gave the driver the address I had written down, hoping that my French wasn't too broken for him to understand based on how little I had used it throughout the last few years. Oliver had stopped speaking English at one point when we were having sex and I had taken notice of the fact that I couldn't make out a chunk of what he was saying. Thankfully the driver seemed to have an idea in regards to where I had told him to go, not giving any sort of confused stare or asking that I repeat myself.

Much to my dismay, it was an extremely short drive, leaving me no time to think through my decision to come and support him and convince myself it was a terrible idea and turn around. I could walk back if I wanted to bail, but my brothers shoes I had accidentally stolen were currently cutting off the circulation of my feet. I wouldn't last long walking and would end up having more blisters than I had toes. My only option as of now was to go into the building and find my seat, wondering if it looked odd to those around me that I was here alone. No one was on stage yet, meaning I was relatively early, and after checking my phone I concluded that they weren't due to start for another half an hour. Once in awhile you could see brief movement from backstage as the performers began getting in their order and the lights near the stage dimmed slightly in an attempt to hide them.

I had never liked being on stage, making it through a single piano recital when I was a kid before begging my parents to never make me do that again. Oliver on the other hand? I think on stage was where he was the happiest… at least when we were young. The fact that he was still performing gave me the impression that he still enjoyed it and yet the fact that he had no solos in this performance made me question if he had begun preferring the background, which was something I never would have believed five years ago.

Oliver was, what you would call, unique. He had a personal style that made him stand out in a crowd and he had always seemed to like it that way. Now as I waited, curtain opening and revealing a mass of matching black turtlenecks, I found myself unable to even find him, blended in uniform among what must have been at least fifty other men and women. Eventually I caught a glimpse of him in the strings section, flipping through pages of songs with his violin propped against the side of the metal chair he sat in, still in it's case. His hair was, once again, styled in a low bun and his bangs looked like they'd been cut recently, sitting just above his eyebrows and gaining length as they framed his face, swooping delicately to the right.

He looked nice, cleaning up significantly better then I ever could. Although his face was mostly blank with concentration, I could see him nibbling on the corner of his lip, tongue licking at the spot he had been biting before slipping back into his mouth. Would I completely blow his concentration if he spotted me in the crowd? Could the people on stage even see the crowd?

Sinking deep into my seat, I waited out the remaining minutes by watching Oliver get his violin out and make sure it was tuned one final time before waxing the bow. Although he had a clear preference toward his violin, he knew how to play most of the string instruments and I was somewhat surprised when watching the stage that he blended into the small section as opposed to performing on the lone harp that was tucked in the front corner, which an older woman with long, dark hair had taken the chair next to.

When did he start… conforming? If that was even the right word. I missed seeing him light up the stage during his solo ensemble, well aware that he was one of the best performers in his year and having pride in himself. It made me wonder how the current orchestra in front of me even worked. Did he have to audition? Was where he was placed based on how well he had done? We had all been out of secondary school for years now, so it was possible he just hadn't kept up with his music the way he had with art and culinary. He was absurdly smart, labeled at a young age as gifted, but he wasn't limitless and at some point it was likely that one of his hobbies had become too much to maintain.

The off stage lighting dimmed and I spent the next hour listening to them play, never taking my eyes off Oliver as he followed along with everyone else. He did well, not that I expected any less of him, but that didn't mean I couldn't be impressed. It was fascinating to see him so hyper focused on something and cute how he stuck his tongue out every time he needed to up his level of concentration. He didn't look into the crowd at any point, never catching sight of me, which he wouldn't have anyway, not in a crowd like this. It did ease my nerves, though, giving me confidence to join the standing ovation after they had finished all of their sets. He smiled with a sense of self pride, something that was nice to see in him again.

Thankfully, I hadn't completely destroyed his self esteem.

Following the row I sat in as they made their way out, I took one more glance over my shoulder. It was the happiest I had seen Oliver look since I had spoken to him, carefully putting his things away while giggling with the girl he'd been sitting next to. I wondered what it was that they were laughing at, both feeling left out that there might be some joke I wasn't in on while also beginning to accept the numbness that was running through me. He seemed so much less anxious and although I wanted it to be because he was currently in his happy place, in the back of my head I knew the change in mood was due to him not being around me. By trying to rekindle our friendship I was doing nothing but hurting him and it was time for me to accept that.

He didn't want me back.

XXX

Oliver

"Do you wanna grab a glass of wine, or are you heading home right away?"

I slowed my pace down, taking a moment to give some thought to my friends offer. I hadn't planned on sticking around after the performance, now contouring my face in uncertainty. I had a lot of work to do tomorrow, but it had been a long time since I had spent a few hours with friends, causing a personal debate on whether I should take Celeste up on what she had asked.

"I suppose one wouldn't hurt." I shrugged, walking with her toward where the food and beverages were sold. We could have gone elsewhere, somewhere better quality and more expensive, but it had become a bit of a tradition within the members of the orchestra to stick around the building, occasionally mingling with those who had come to see the performance. We weren't any sort of famous group, mostly watched by older people who appreciated the music or younger men and women who were trying to impress their date. Still, we had nearly sold out, something that I wasn't ashamed at being proud of.

"Did you notice that guy in the crowd before the lights dimmed?" Celeste asked.

I raised an eyebrow at her.

"What guy in the crowd?" No one had stuck out to me in particular, not that I had been paying those watching us much attention. "Was someone picking their nose or something?"

"The one who was staring at you the whole time."

I rolled my eyes, suddenly realizing where this was going.

"Yeah, right." I huffed. "Stop trying to set me up with people, especially if you don't know then. Didn't your parents ever talk to you about stranger danger?"

"I'm just saying that it would be good for you to get out more often. You're always at the bakery or the restaurant and on the days that you are around it's always 'I can't come, I'm finishing a painting' or 'I need to practice the violin that I've been playing since I was five'. Earth to Oliver: You aren't practicing the violin, you're playing it. There's a difference."

I snorted softly, elbowing her in the shoulder as we walked. It wasn't as though I didn't see the point she was trying to make, but keeping busy was something that made me happy. I liked being productive and feeling as though I was serving some sort of purpose, even if my family didn't exactly need the money I earned. Hell, I hadn't even made a dent in my trust fund when I bought the bakery.

"I'm twenty two, Celeste." I stated. "I have plenty of time before I need to start worrying about settling down. Honestly, I'm not even sure I want to date at all. I'm pretty content with my life right now."

"I know you better than that." She smirked.

"Pardon?"

"I've seen the way you act whenever someone we know starts dating. You always close yourself off. Hell, we can hardly get you to do anything with us anymore. I know it's uncomfortable feeling like you're a third wheel, but you always just seem… sad. I wanna be able to see your bright and shining face again when we're out and about without feeling like I can't invite my boyfriend along without making you miserable. Besides," She huffed as she caught her breath, "You're a good kid, you deserve to have someone to always remind you of that."

I brought my head down, wondering if I should tell her that I had recently slept with the person I used to call my best friend. It had been a long time since I'd allowed someone so close to me, the side of my brain that knew it was wrong spending most of the session arguing with the side that said it was so incredibly right. I had claimed I had done it to hurt him, but part of me wasn't sure my heart had even allowed me to have a choice. No matter how much time went by; no matter how much I moved on, there was a part of me that had never stopped loving him.

"I tried dating once already," I reminded her, deciding to keep what had happened between Enrique and I to myself. "You know how stressed I was with Jean Pierre."

"That's because he was a dick."

"Stop it."

"Given, he was a romantic dick, but still a dick. It didn't surprise me much that he reeled you in."

"Shut up." I blushed, glaring at her from the sides of my eyes. I knew she wasn't fond of my ex boyfriend, something she had made clear years prior to this conversation. He wasn't a bad person, never had been, but he had been clingy and at the end of the day it had caused me to break things off with him.

"I'm just saying, it wouldn't kill you to do something for yourself, you know?" She wrapped an arm around my shoulders, hip bumping into me and causing a momentary loss of balance. I stumbled, catching myself on the other foot and making my annoyance clear in my face. "You're attractive; you turn heads."

"I do not."

"I'm only friends with two other gay men and both have asked you out."

"That's only because I'm single. They just viewed me as an option."

"It's because you're cute, Oliver."

"Well excuse me for wanting to be liked for other reasons."

She giggled as we made our way up to the counter, ordering both of us a glass of white wine she no longer fought me over paying. She knew I could afford it and I knew she didn't use me for money. Grabbing the sparkling glasses, we made our way over to a somewhat empty sitting area, avoiding the crowd for the time being. It wasn't that I hadn't been up for entertaining, as I did enjoy intermingling occasionally after a performance, but I wasn't planning on sticking around long. There was only one other person around us, sitting on his own at one of the tall tables and sipping at some sort of brandy.

"That's the guy!" Celeste whispered excitedly, yanking me by my shoulder and causing me to damn near spill my drink. "I think. I'm pretty sure that's him."

She had pulled up behind one of the pillars like a love struck preteen attempting to stalk their crush, now peering out in an attempt to not be spotted.

"Will you knock it off?" I groaned, pulling myself off of her and continuing to go and sit down. I didn't care whether or not some guy I didn't know had been looking at me, I just wanted to have a glass of wine and go home. "Just drop it already, I-"

I froze, not locked in place momentarily like I had been during the art gallery, but like someone might have been if suddenly startled. No way was this happening again.

"Oliver?" Celeste asked, "Are you okay?"

I was not okay. I was angry.

"What are you doing here, Enrique?" I exclaimed, making no attempt to avoid causing a scene. I couldn't care less if I embarrassed him, he had humiliated me first.

Clearly startled by the sudden realization that I had discovered him, Enrique lost his balance, tipping the stool over while he was still sat on it and toppling onto the floor. Those around us took immediate notice, eyes now on us both. Although everyone seemed keen to eavesdrop, no one was interested enough to offer him a hand, causing him to appear small and helpless. The sight in front of me seemed to calm my anger, feeling fully in control due to how pathetic he looked. He was shocked, laying in the middle of the floor, and wet from where his drink had spilled down him. The crowd looked at him like he was an alien. He didn't belong here.

"I was just… I mean…"

His face was damn near crimson with shame and he had brought his head downward, keeping his eyes hidden under bangs that it appeared he had attempted to style before giving up.

"Are you following me?" I asked.

Finally, he picked himself up and off of the floor, attempting to smooth out his soaked shirt to no avail. He had no reason to be here, hell, I wasn't even sure how he knew I was here in the first place. There was no way it could be a coincidence, though.

"I just wanted to…" He mumbled, cutting himself off before completing the sentence. "I'm sorry, I'll leave."

Backing quickly away, he made an awkward run toward the hallway that led out of the sitting area and toward the doorway, now leaving me there to deal with the wandering eyes that refused to mind their own business. He had stopped trying to get a hold of me after I blew him off, claiming I would call him back and then finding myself unable to talk myself into it. I had assumed he'd given up, seeing as I hadn't expected him to stick around long before continuing his own life. He was supposed to ignore me again; everything was supposed to go back to the way it was before he approached me during my art showing.

"Oliver?"

Celeste's hand touched my shoulder gently, her expression going from excitement as she had realized that she'd recognized Enrique from the crowd, to concerned confusion as what on earth she had just witnessed.

"I'm fine." I said quietly, "I think I'm just going to go home."

"Who was that?"

"Nobody."

It was clear she didn't believe me, although she didn't push me any further for information, understanding that I was going to need some time for what just happened to sink in. Although I had worked hard to ignore him ever since he tried forcing himself into my life, I was finding myself unable to go back to how everything used to be. I couldn't get him out of my head and it frightened me. We weren't kids anymore, he had reminded me himself that I had only been seventeen when he left, there was no reason for my brain to remain so stuck on him.

He had left me. I was the victim in this situation, so why were my lingering thoughts currently pitying him? Why did I so badly want to run after him and make sure he was was okay? It wasn't like he was deserving of any of my sympathy.

I needed an answer, though. I needed to know why he had come all this way yet again.

We were going to talk, and this time it was going to be under my circumstances.