In Hate With You [mlm]

the fifteenth rendezvous

I step out of my front door with a sigh, rubbing at my tired eyes. The clothes bundled in my arms try to escape, trailing sleeves and trouser legs.

As I walk down the corridor, I can feel a yawn building in my throat. Even though I slept through most of Saturday, and well into Sunday morning, I am still sleepy. My feet move slowly, dragging along the floor. All I want to do is go home and watch rubbish movies and sleep through the afternoon.

A smile tweaks at my lips as I near Dante's door.

Music is creeping through the corridor; a soft piano melody, whispering against my ears. A soft crescendo of high notes falls into a low lullaby, following the line of somebody's voice. I knock on the door and instantly regret it, as the playing stops.

Footsteps echo inside, then the sound of the door clicking open. And Dante is standing in front of me, his hair hanging in loose curls around his face, his hands knotted in the fabric of his sleeves.

Shadows gather under his amber eyes, clinging to his pale skin. I eye him, my gaze skimming his dishevelled appearance. Sweatpants hug his hips, falling to the ground in swathes of fleecy fabric. A hoodie cloaks his torso, darkening the features of his face.

"I brought your clothes back from Friday," I murmur, holding out the armful of clothes by way of explanation.

"Thank you," he nods, taking the clothes from my arms.

Somewhere behind him, music begins to echo from a piano; the notes stumble a little more than before, created by younger, clumsier fingers.

He winces as a sharp note clashes with the walls, out of the place in the rest of the piece. But the player passes over the clunky notes and continues, dancing along any particularly fast sections.

I meet Dante's eyes, examining the way he bites his lip.

"Would you- would you like to come inside?" He offers, his words hesitant. I nod, following him as he steps backwards, into the flat.

"You know you've already won me over, right? You don't need to be nervous anymore," I tell him, a smirk gracing my lips. His cheeks flush pink.

"I think I'll always be nervous around you," he admits, honesty lining his eyes.

Disbelief spreads across my face as I remember the intimidating, tattooed man I met on my first morning here. The words escape my lips before I can think about them, "If that's what you're like nervous, I would have hated to meet you at your most confident."

"I thought you did hate me when you first met me?" He asks, a teasing light playing in his eyes. It's my turn to go pink, covering up my face with my hands, but my embarrassment fades from my face as he laughs.

"Briana's mother warned me that you were a 'grumpy sod'," Dante continues, and I scowl at the thought of the old woman I met after falling graciously into Dante's arms.

"She's got it the wrong way around," I mutter darkly. Dante frowns. "I mean, she's more of a 'grumpy sod' than either of us."

A chuckle escapes Dante's lips, and we share a secret smile. He walks out of the hallway, where we paused to chat, and dumps the bundle of clothes onto one of the chairs in the dining room.

I barely have time to glance around the lounge, before Ady is bounding into my arms.

"James!" She yelps excitedly, grinning up at me.

"Hi, Ady," I reply, a smile tugging at my lips.

"Do you like our new piano?" She asks me, pointing at the baby grand piano standing in the middle of their flat. It takes up most of the space in the room, but somehow doesn't make it feel small.

If anything, it makes the room feel bigger - more powerful. The shiny white surface sends glimmers of light into the smallest corners of the room, the black keys a sharp contrast. The lid is sitting open, revealing the wires and strings connecting the keys to the main workings of the piano.

"I love it," I tell her, turning to face Dante. He doesn't meet my eyes. "Was it a late birthday present?"

Ady frowns, "No. Daddy bought it on Saturday morning for fun, and so he could teach me how to play."

I look at Dante again, and he studiously avoids my gaze.

Instead of asking him about it like I long to, I walk up to the piano and run my fingers over the keys. There's something special about it - something that tells me he spent a long time deliberating over whether to buy it or not.

"Can you play me something?" I request, directing my question at Ady. She nods, biting gently at her lower lip as she settles on the stool.

Her fingers trace along the keys; her hands settle into place and then-