Ketterdam University

{twelve}

            At first, Wylan didn't mind Kuwei around the house as often as he was. He usually stayed the night once a week, maybe twice if Jesper was really stressed out. Wylan never saw him come in, but he always saw him leave the flat in the early mornings, newly showered with a grin from here to Timbuktu. Both Jesper and Kuwei acted like there hadn't been a life-changing shift between the flat dynamic, that them sleeping together didn't completely change the environment and atmosphere. The less Wylan saw of Kuwei, the better his mood was. Somehow, waking up and knowing your friend and roommate are canoodling less than a hundred yards away can completely ruin your mood.

            After a few weeks, Wylan got irritated. Not at Jesper, not at Kuwei, but at everything. The littlest things set him off, like the coffee machine not making coffee enough, or the dishwasher not washing the dishes plenty through. He found himself digging his fingernails into the palm of his hands as he balled up his fists out of frustrations. So instead of lashing out at the two people making it worse, he directed his anger into his studies, which – surprisingly – worked. Inej made more appearances around the flat as she continued their study buddy dates. Having another person at the apartment made everything easier. The one thing he didn't enjoy, however, was how she could see the honest truth written all over his face. He knew she was going to bring it up at some point. But did it have to be today of all days?

            This day was the worst compilation of bad things to happen in twenty-four hours since Jesper and Kuwei got together. He woke up late for class, and while he would normally call Kuwei to record their class for him so he didn't miss anything, he realized Kuwei had slept in as well...right next to Jesper. Just great, he thought sourly to himself as he clamored around the kitchen angrily that morning.

            He decided to go to school anyway to practice by himself in the band room. But after several attempts and sips of mouth-drying water, the piece wasn't falling together as it usually was. The chords sounded distorted and scattered, the ugly sound echoing off of the emptiness of the room.

            "God da – " Wylan set the flute down too recklessly, and it tipped off of the table and clanged violently on the floor, the sound ringing in his ears. A silver key had somehow snagged loose off of the flute and flew across the room, disappearing into a mess of lined chairs.

            No, no, no, no, Wylan searched frantically for the shiny button-shaped piece around the legs of the metal chairs, but after ten minutes he gave up completely. He swore into the void of silence and packed his flute with shaking fingers. With a chilling shiver up his spine, he remembered the gentle but scolding voice of his past tutor. Now, what are you going to do with a broken flute, Wylan love? Once it's broken, you can put it back together, but it will never be the same again. Your music will be thrown off kilter, the notes misplaced and struggling. And we don't want that, now, do we, poppet? He could practically feel those cold fingertips grasping his chin and slinking down his neck.   

            In the car with the key in the ignition, he picked up his phone and saw a missed call from Nikolai. Even though he didn't feel like it, he realized Nikolai would've shot a text if absolutely necessary, so he returned the call.

            "Hey, Nikki. What's up?"

            "Hey." Nikolai's voice was somber, and the words fell like cold ice in Wylan's stomach.

            "What's wrong?"

            "Oh, ah, your dad emailed you a few minutes ago. I thought I should tell you what he said."

            "Spare me the details. Just give me the gist." Today was not the day for that.

            "Well, he wants your notes, of course. But he says he didn't get enough this past month. He thinks you're...um, slacking. He doesn't think you're as on top of your work as you're telling him you are."