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All I do is mend to break you free
When he was twelve, Harry had attended his first piano lesson. He had heard the melody on the radio on the car ride back from school, and even though he couldn't recall its name, the melody was stuck in his head the entire day.
The sound of the keys, soft in the beginning but growing more desperate as the song went on amazed him. It made him want to learn how to do that, how to convey your emotions without using a single word.
At dinner, he had told his parents, upon first listen they were skeptical. Maybe it was because he had previously taken recorder lessons and violin lessons, neither sticking with him for long, but in the end, they decided to give it a try.
Harry never got good at the piano. He tried and he tried, he did. He tried so hard, but he never got where he had wanted to be. Somewhen he had forgotten the melody that had made him want to learn in the first place, and along with the melody, his ambitions vanished as well. Now he was able to play some things, just enough to fool someone who couldn't play at all.
You didn't need to know anything about the instrument to notice that Avery's piano was completely out of tune. It was a beautiful instrument, a black sohmar, a decent brand that doesn't age well.
Harry made himself another tea at midnight, not a single noise had come from the bedroom and he had checked in Avery several times. Each time she had been curled up into a tight ball, as if she had been trying to attain the smallest ounce of warmth, and she had a small frown on her face. She looked like a small child.
While he waited for the kettle to boil, he called Francis. Francis was staying at his parent's house for a couple of weeks, and knowing how he felt about being there, Harry called often. He picked up after the first ring.
"Hello?" Francis's groggy voice answered, the sound made a small smile appear on Harry's face.
"Hey Fran, how are you?" Harry opened the cabinet to look for anything other than the bitter peppermint tea, only seeking out a single bag of earl grey. With a shrug, he dropped it into his cup.
"I'm okay," Francis replied, and he could hear him chuckle at the usage of his old nickname, one that hadn't been used in a while. "My parents are watching me 24/7, I feel like I'm in a zoo with the word fragile written all over me."
"But your mom makes that amazing lasagna, so you have no choice but to forgive them."
"She's on a health kick now, so all my dad and I are getting is salads and stirred vegetables."
"We should get takeout when you're back, from that restaurant we both like," Harry suggested, pouring the hot water over the questionable tea bag.
"Yeah, we should do that..."
"When are you coming back?"
"Three weeks maybe? My parents want to drive up to my cousin's bar mitzvah next week." Harry knew how much Francis hated family gatherings, and hoped that his change of tone was because of the bar mitzvah and not the usual thoughts that lurked in the back of his mind.
