At least their guest arriving the next morning would be greeted with fresh flowers.
Bailey didn’t think Travis would care much either way.
After he completed the flowers, he cycled the laundry yet again and redressed the first bedroom before retreating to the living room. He stopped before the couch, staring down at his guitar with his hands on his hips.
Sometimes he wanted nothing more than to say fuck it and pursue a music career, but he’d never be so heartless as to leave his mother with everything. And after seeing what could happen to a talented, famous artist such as Travis practically overnight? Hell no. Bailey couldn’t see himself pursuing something so risky. Not without a guarantee.
So he’d use it as his escape, his therapy.
With that in mind, he sat down and pulled the guitar back into his lap, strumming lazily.
He laid his head back on the couch and sighed as the music poured out of him. The stress left his shoulders and his mind cleared the longer he played. He hummed along, the lyrics playing on a loop inside his head, but he just couldn’t sing along yet.
“So you can play,” a familiar voice interrupted.
Bailey fumbled the next chord as he cracked one eye open to find Travis leaning against the doorjamb, arms crossed and one corner of his lips quirked up.
“I can,” Bailey answered simply, and tried to pretend his cheeks weren’t flaming. “Did you need something?”
“Yep. To hear more of that,” he said, and pointed to Bailey’s guitar.
“It’s just a hobby,” he stated before Travis could get too excited.
“Is it? You teach music to queer kids in the area. You’re helping the city organize a music festival, and—”
“All just things to pass the time,” he interjected. The gleam of excitement in Travis’s gaze was too much for Bailey. He sucked in a sharp breath and willed his heart to calm the fuck down.
“That’s some talent for just passing the time,” Travis argued. His gaze traced Bailey’s relaxed frame. “You’re playing like it’s second nature.”
“I’ve been playing since I was little,” he explained.
“And it’s been just a hobby for how many years?”
Bailey’s cheeks flamed again and he shook his head. “It doesn’t matter.” He sat up and moved to lay his guitar to the side, but Travis stepped forward and gave him a puppy dog look, his big blue eyes wide and pleading.
“Play for me?” he requested quietly.
Bailey should have said no. He should have sat up, gone downstairs and continued to rotate the laundry and get on with his day. But something else shone out of Travis’s eyes that he couldn’t place or put a name to. Whatever it was made him pull his guitar close once again and place his fingers over the frets before strumming the first chord of the song he’d been playing with.
With Travis’s gaze heavy and heady like a physical touch, Bailey played because he was powerless to do little else.
TRAVIS
He hadn’t meant to stumble upon Bay as he was playing, but once Travis had left his room, he’d been drawn to the living area by the music. Bay had been so enthralled with playing he hadn’t even heard him approach, so Travis had taken the opportunity to study him.
Sometimes, it felt like Bay saw more than Travis wanted him to, and rarely was he able to do the same.
He’d paused just inside the living room and leaned against the doorway, crossing his arms and socked feet as Bay strummed lithe fingers over the strings of the guitar. His head was laid back against the couch, throat bare and Adam’s apple bobbing as he hummed to the song. He didn’t outright sing, but Travis could tell from the cadence of the music that he had lyrics bouncing around in his mind.
So why didn’t he let them out?
Watching Bay lose himself in the music reminded Travis of his dream from the night before. He could easily see himself lowering down onto the couch beside Bay and leaning over to place his lips against—
Focus.
Bay was talented, that much was clear. Even if he was just playing as a hobby, he was good. Better than Travis had been when he’d started out.
As Bay played, Travis couldn’t tear his gaze away from the younger man. His fingers drifted over the chords effortlessly, the melody haunting and sad even though he didn’t sense the matching emotion from him.
Travis moved closer, dropping down into the chair next to the sofa, angled so he could still watch Bay as he played.
Flashes of his dream kept replaying in his head, at odds with the dark tone of the song. Bay kept his gaze locked on Travis as he settled into the seat. He suddenly wished he had his own guitar, because the longer Bay played, the more a harmony developed in his mind, the notes pairing and clashing with Bay’s in the perfect tone. His fingers tightened over the edge of the armrest as he tensed.
He didn’t have lyrics to match such a haunting melody, but he didn’t need them. Travis finally stood, holding up one finger, and Bay stuttered to a stop, the last note ringing in the air.
“Don’t go anywhere,” he demanded, and then fled the room. Without boots on, the blisters were fine, the irritation gone, but the skin was tight and uncomfortable. It didn’t stop him though as he ran to his room and grabbed his guitar off the bed.
When he returned, Bay hadn’t moved a single muscle in the time he’d disappeared, and his lips twitched at the thought. He sat back in the chair and perched on the edge, guitar balanced in his lap.
“Start over,” he instructed, and then paused. “Please?” he offered.
Chocolate eyes gleamed even as his brows dipped low in confusion, but Bailey nodded and after a small pause he began strumming again, from the beginning.
Travis listened to the chords and grinned. It was dark and haunting and slow, but Bay played in a way that made Travis sit up and pay attention, aching for every note that followed.
Travis found the perfect chord to begin with and strummed the harmony in time with Bay’s melody.
Bailey’s gaze darted between Travis’s playing fingers, eyes gleaming. His lips curled the longer they played together, the more Travis added to the song. By the time it came to a close, Bailey’s eyes were practically sparkling. Excitement built within Travis as they played together, a grin curving his lips from the high of creating something amazing.
They trailed off at the same time, and Travis let his fingers hang in front of the strings.
“That…”
“Sounded fucking awesome,” Travis finished.
Bay nodded absently, the gleam evaporating from his gaze as he glanced to the side, remaining silent.
Unease slithered through him the longer Bay remained silent, until he sat up and leaned forward. “I’m sorry if I overstepped, I just loved the sound of it. You’re really talented,” he told him in a panic.
“Don’t apologize,” Bay said quietly, and darted his gaze to Travis’s. “You’re right, it sounded fucking awesome.”
He offered Travis a bright smile, but something in it was empty, and Travis wanted to take back whatever he’d done to put that look in his eyes.
“I’ve got to finish the laundry, and by then Mom should be back with whatever she left to get.” Bay stood and gripped his guitar close, his voice flat.