Page 17 of A Wistful Symphony

“It’s brilliant! There are a lot of movies about drug addiction, but Requiem had such a unique narrative,” Zoe gushes.

A part of me wants to participate in the discussion, but the subject is still touchy for me after all this time.

“Yeah, if by unique you mean glamourizing suffering,” Kayla adds.

Zoe rebukes her. “It’s fiction, babe, not a documentary.”

“Fiction made by a white cis man who never lived that reality.”

Ben intervenes before they argue. “Besides, the soundtrack is breathtaking, right, Eric? Lux Aeterna gives me chills every time.” I simply nod.

“None of you are making me want to see this.” Robin stares at their nails.

“Young Jared Leto, Robs,” Delia says.

“Interesting.” They smirk, entwining their fingers under their chin. “Now you have my attention.”

The doorbell buzzes once more, interrupting the discussion.

“I’ll get it.” I hurry for the door, half eager for the newest visitor and half relieved to escape the uncomfortable conversation.

Once my fingers grip the handle, I hesitate.

I had little hope you would come, so I never prepared myself for your presence in my home.

Should I act aloof? Excited? Should I treat you as a friend or as something more?

Should I flirt? Do I even know how to flirt?

Better not. My friends will never shut up if I so much as try anything tonight.

After a second buzz, I snap out of it and open the door.

“Andrew, you came.” A bubbly feeling fills my stomach. Or perhaps it’s the excess of gin.

“Sorry, I wasn’t sure if I should.” You shift from one foot to the other and grin sheepishly.

“Nonsense.” I shake my head. “Come in, everyone’s here.”

“Hey, happy birthday.” You hand me a small package with nicely coloured wrapping. “I didn’t know what to get you, but I hope you like it.”

“Andrew, you shouldn’t have.” I carefully open the paper to reveal an old hardcover book. Sense and Sensibility .

“You probably have it already, because of your job, but I’m giving it a shot.” The bridge of your nose crinkles in restrained expectation. “Sorry if some pages are scribbled on. This is my copy, actually.”

I open the worn-out leather cover and slowly turn the yellowed pages.

There are underlined passages and comments written in your small angular handwriting, which feels like peeking into something personal.

Next to the famous quote, “I wish, as well as everybody else, to be perfectly happy; but, like everybody else, it must be in my own way,” there’s a single note: Ain’t that the truth?

I smile fondly and close the tome. “Thank you, Andrew.”

“Eric, come on! Quit pining over him. We’re going to play a game.” Delia’s yell cuts through us and my face turns sour. You lower your head, hiding a laugh behind your palm as I throw her a death glare.

“Okay, you already know Delia, Zoe and Ollie. These are Benjamin Santos, Kayla Ikande and Robin Grant,” I say, returning to the sitting room. “Guys, this is Andrew Westcott, from our hometown.” I keep your introduction simple to avoid nosy questions.

“Nice to meet you, Andrew.” Ben offers you a hearty smile.

“Yeah, for sure,” Kayla adds.

You raise a hand and glance sideways, probably bothered by all the stares.

“Hello sweetheart, pronouns they/them, if you please.” Robin waves, wiggling their fingers.

“Oh, right, got it.”

We both take our places around the coffee table and Robin speaks again. “Wait, are you the Andrew Eric used to date?”

Delia grins. “The very one.”

“So you have two exes at your birthday party? Awkward ….” They tease the last word in a falsetto.

“Robin,” I mutter, trying—too late—to put some sense into them.

“Wait, what?” A chuckle forces its way between your crooked lips.

“Me,” Ollie adds, a tad uncomfortable. “Eric and I tried dating a while back.”

“Tried? You were together for almost a year, mate.” Zoe smirks.

“And most of it was long distance because of COVID,” I retort, praying for the subject to end.

“Oh, no worries. It’s not like it’s any of it is my business.” You keep your tone casual, but I swear I can see the colour fading from your face.

“Don’t fret, Andrew. I’ll always be on your team.” My sister wraps one arm around your shoulders, and you dodge away, which makes it even more awkward.

“Oh, my.” Robin puts a hand on their chest. “That looks straight out of reality television.”

With my cheeks blazing hot, my fingers twitch, eager for my friends’ throats. Is it still mass murder if you do it on your birthday?

At least it can’t get any worse .

“Anyway,” Ben cuts in. “We were going to spice things up and use Ollie’s vodka to play reverse ‘never have I ever.’”

Zoe cheers. “Hell yeah! Vanillas will get wasted tonight.”

I should bite my fucking tongue right now.

Delia hops to the kitchen, and I mentally curse Ollie for bringing me such a gift. Everyone sits on the floor around the coffee table while Zoe takes the mess away and Delia pops in with shot glasses.

A cheerful Ariana Grande song pumps through the speaker, and Robin turns down the volume, which I’m thankful for. The cacophony of music and multiple voices had me resorting to lip reading, which is tiring as hell. And something I doubt I’d be able to do in a few minutes.

“Okay, I’ll go first.” Zoe perches upright. “Never have I ever eaten someone’s arse.”

As I expect, only Delia and Kayla drink.

“Oh, come on, you know that one triggers me,” I complain.

“Exactly. Drink up, birthday boy.”

I huff and bottom up the vodka, making everyone cheer and bang on the table.

“Alright, folks,” Kayla says next. “Never have I ever had sex in a public toilet.”

“Never, babe?” Zoe’s eyes grow wide.

“Shagging in the filth doesn’t turn me on.”

“Well, thank you,” I agree, and this time, Ben and I drink.

No one takes the next round, and the room falls silent for a few seconds.

“It’s your turn, Andrew.” Robin says.

You massage the nape of your neck. “I really don’t know what to say.”

I try to help. “Just say anything you haven’t done yet. And by anything, I mean something sexual.”

“Oh, alright then. Let’s see.” You touch your chin. “I’ve never had sex with a girl.”

Robin, Delia and I drink, and I wonder if you said that because it was the first thing on your mind, or if you purposely threw in an obvious one to hide your history.

The rounds continue with silly affirmations that unsurprisingly manage to get me drunk.

Which is not all bad, because I can only stand the embarrassment of this stupid game with enough alcohol in my bloodstream.

It takes less than an hour until my sight is blurred and my manners substantially more erratic.

Everyone is laughing, and I’m not sure if it’s because of me or the game, but drunk as I am, I couldn’t care less.

“Never have I ever wanked a guy,” Zoe says when the round goes back to her.

My shot stays untouched on the table.

“How is that?” she asks in outrage, almost spilling her drink. “You barely touch people’s hands!”

“You know those Japanese masturbation eggs? They’re fucking awesome, and the best part is, no skin contact,” I announce with a victorious smirk. “I do that trick often.”

“Often?” Ollie cuts in, his accent almost incomprehensible. “I thought that was our thing.”

“Sorry, mate.” I intend to tease Ollie more, but from the corner of my eye I see you biting your lower lip. “Anyway, joke’s on you, Zoe. Drink up.”

She fumes and drinks the vodka, spilling a drop onto her chin.

“Hm, let’s see, never have I ever had unsafe sex,” Ben says.

Ollie, Robin and Zoe don’t drink, and to my surprise, you do not as well.

“Really, Andrew?” I raise an eyebrow, convincing myself that my concerns are for health reasons only.

“I was in a reckless experimenting phase some years ago.” You throw me a tiny shrug.

It’s Kayla’s turn. “Alright, let’s see. Never have I ever had group sex.”

To no one’s surprise, Ollie and Robin don’t drink, but when I glance to the right, your shot glass remains full. My eyes pop.

“Like I said, experimenting phase.” You blush furiously.

The rest of the game passes in flashes, and I’m wasted to the point it scares me to learn what I’ve said or done.

People keep talking after the vodka is empty, filling themselves with gin, Lord knows how.

The flat is a hot mess with a horde of glasses on the table, pillows on the floor and food stains on my rug.

I almost slap someone who puts a sweaty glass of G&T on my piano without a coaster.

You stay through all of it, keeping mostly to yourself, though I know you’d rather leave such a loud and crowded place. The plethora of jokes my sister and Zoe keep making about us doesn’t help at all. Still, you endure it with grace.

After Kayla pukes in the restroom, Ollie announces he’s calling it a night because he has an early rehearsal. How he’ll dance tomorrow, I do not know. Thankfully, it stirs everyone to get up as well.

“Guess I should go then,” you say as Zoe and the gang go for their coats.

“Stay.” The word comes out unfiltered, my sight barely focusing on your face. “Everybody is leaving, and I haven’t seen you in so long. Stay a little while.”

You scratch the back of your head and gaze down, but Delia cuts in before you can answer.

“Yeah, Andrew, stay. Your flat is far, and Eric will need someone to hold his hair while he spills his guts into the toilet.”

“As if,” I dart a glare at her.

“It happened, Cuz. You were just too wasted to remember.” Zoe shoves one arm through the sleeve of her coat. “He’s still weaker than a teenage girl when it comes to alcohol.”

“Zoe, just … shut up,” I say.

Your sweet laugh fills the entire sitting room. “Okay then, I’ll stay.”

“Behave, darlings, and if you don’t, remember to use a condom,” Robin teases.

“Leave,” I shout and throw a pillow that lands two miles from the closed door.

You keep laughing, the soft giggle that makes the bridge of your nose crinkle in multiple fine lines. I could stare at it for hours. But woozy and barely holding myself up, all I can do is slosh my body on the sofa and lie next to where you sit.

“I missed you so much, Andrew,” I mumble, not sure if the words actually left my mouth or if I just imagined them.

“I know. I’m sorry,” you say, reticent.

I blink hazily once or twice and turn my face up to stare at you. “How … why did you leave me?”

“I couldn’t stay. It wasn’t fair to you.”

“Why?”

“Because I wanted to die.”

“What?” I ask, brows furrowed. Your words are too confusing for me to grasp. Not that it would’ve been any easier if I were sober.

“I really don’t want to have this conversation while you’re drunk. We’ll talk in the morning, okay?”

I let go of a low chuckle, my eyelids heavy.

“What’s so funny?” you ask.

“It’s just, this is such déjà vu . You’ll leave again, and I’ll remain here, still falling for you.”

There’s no answer. Maybe I’m too delirious to hear anything, or you actually never say a word. I prefer the latter.

“Gosh, I’m gonna be so hungover tomorrow,” I mutter, eyes closed.

A soft weight lands on my head, so light I doubt it’s even there. Entwining in my hair, it moves, caressing me deep into slumber.

I was right about two things. When I wake up the following morning, I have one massive hangover. And there is, in fact, no trace of you in the flat.