If he was nervous, he was excellent at hiding it under that perfect stoic mask. I watched as he moved his hands along the keyboard, his expert fingers slowly pressing the keys as if testing the tune. Barely moving his head at all, he nodded his head smartly, the wisps of black hair tickling his eyes falling away. Clearing his throat, he looked up expectantly, his dark eyes scanning the crowd. Most people looked at him with avid interest; others just stared down at their drinks, uncaring. He had beautiful eyes. Dark, with unfathomable depths. I couldn’t look away as he scanned the crowd before him, murky orbs filled with thinly veiled contempt as they fell on mine. Hesitating, he looked away, clearing his throat again although he held the crowds’ attention. Licking his lips, a smile spread agonizingly slow as his fingers continues to drift adoringly across the piano. He gave off an aura of absolute confidence, as if nothing could knock him off his pedestal. Yet, I could tell, he wasn’t confident at all. His posture was too stiff; he was trying too hard to look relaxed. His eyes, the way they jumped from face to face, contemplating the different expressions. Jerking his head sharply to the side so the hair that still hung across his eyes fell back, he continued to eye the crowd down.  

“I suppose I should begin,” He spoke in that dry, husky voice I’ve always loved. His voice was dark and elegant, like velvet. My skin tingled, and I grinned. His voice…it was disturbingly attractive. “I’m sure you don’t want me to sit here, doing nothing all evening, correct?” He spoke slowly in that tortuously smooth voice, enunciating each word. God, I love his voice. A flick of the tongue across dry lips, another sign he was nervous. As his eyes flickered back to me, I gave a half-smile, my lips barley quirking. Looking away from the crowd, he ran his hand through his hair. “I’ve composed a song I would like to sing tonight.” He slumped further into his seat. When he glanced up, the crowd had fallen completely silent. Taking this as his cue, he straightened, and positioned his hands on the keyboard. “It’s called, Once upon a time.” He said, quietly.  

His fingers began to dance hypnotically, flying across the keyboard as he sat with his eyes closed, letting the music flow through him, his brow furrowed in concentration. Opening his mouth, his beautifully dark voice poured out, wonderfully filling the dimly lit room. I was drawn into his song, just as I was drawn to his character. I didn’t know what it was about him that was so fascinating, but…he entranced me. Unable to tear my gaze away, I watched his long fingers play, I watched his toes tapping out the beat, I watched the shadows on his face darken as the light bulb above him flickered weakly. I watched as his eyes opened, and he scanned the crowd so he could see the rapt faces, his eyes intense, so full of the emotions he was finally letting out. I found myself watching his pale lips as he sang. It was the strangest feeling¸ this queer sense of community that his song, pulled into this world of emotion, of secret and wonder. It was beautiful…magical.  

The song ended too soon. I was startled out of my reverie by the sound of loud, enthusiastic clapping. With a shocked expression, I looked around the room, never have I seen them like this before. Feeling a surge of pride for him, I began clapping as well. He was brilliant. More than brilliant. Just….I can’t even put into words how great he was. Meeting my stare, his lips curved up in what could be called a smile. His eyes softened, I couldn’t help but smile back. It was amazing how much that small grin changed him. He looked friendlier, happier since he had gotten such an excited reaction. Propping my head on my hand, I settled down to wait.  

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It was late before we had the place to ourselves. I couldn’t help but feel odd, sitting across from him, slowly sipping my cup of coffee. He was always so quiet after a performance; it was as if he stored his mask away for tomorrow. But today, something was different. He seemed happier than he’d been in a long time. Leaning back in his chair, he lazily brushed the hair back, even though it always fell back anyways. Swirling the coffee in his mug, he stared out the window, a secret, mischievous look in his eyes. The pale moonlight streaming through the windows seemed to steal the color from the world, turning everything black and white, leaving us with nothing but our truths and our lies.  

“It’s 11:11,” He noted quietly, gazing steadily at the clock above me. I tilted my head, looking at him questionably. Seeing my puzzled look, he explained, “Make a wish.”  

Contemplating, I opened my mouth. “No, wait,” He stopped me, putting his hand over my mouth, “I bet I know what you’ll wish for.” He smirked. Silently, I pushed his hand away, and with a small smile on my face, I crossed my arms and leaned back, “You know everything.” I scoffed.  

“You’re right, I do know everything.” For a brief, stunning moment, he grinned, quick, sharp, heartbreaking, a crack in his usually perfect composure. My heart hiccupped, I swear. “You,” he continued, unperturbed, “want a tragic love story, full of everything cliché, from love at first sight to kisses in the rain.” There was a slight hesitation in his eyes though his voice continued, smooth and comforting. “Correct?” He took another sip of coffee, raising his eyebrows. I just shook my head, amazed with how sometimes he seemed to know me so well.  

“Well, sometimes.” I answered slowly, carefully. He would know if I lied. “true love, a faerie tale romance and all that no matter how unrealistic that may be.” I continued dreamily, a smile on my face. “Soul mates. I like the idea of soul mates, how there will always be someone in the world who would love you unconditionally. And yes, everything cliché, they make me feel warm and fuzzy inside.” I looked up expectantly, but his smile was gone, a serious look had slipped into place. “I want to be the most important person in someone’s heart.” I added, quietly. There was a long pause before he answered.  

“You’re such a hopeless romantic.” He shook his head, muttering. “Soul mates? True love? I’ve never understood why you like those things.” Sitting up, he propped his head, his cheek resting on his hand, “I’ve always thought it was foolish to believe in those things.” Looking out the window, his eyes were dark and distant. “Can we not decide what goes on in our own lives? Why must we rely on faith to decide our happiness? To think that everything’s predetermined, that we have no choice…it’s depressing.”  

“I didn’t think you’d agree.” I said, half expecting his disapproval. “Didn’t think you’d be a hopeless romantic at heart.” I looked down at the swirling cream in my cup. I know it’s childish, but it still hurt, just a little, that he didn’t like it as well. Drawing invisible swirls on the table, I sighed. It always mattered what he thought, always. I guess his opinion would always matter. He never sugar coated words, always said exactly what he thought, no matter how hurtful it might be. But I guess I had learned courage from him in those small ways. Out of the corner of my eye, I watched him, his eyes half-closed as he leaned farther back in his chair. He was so graceful, every movement was elegant even though he was seated on a cheap café chair.  

“Whatever.” He brushed off my comments with a little wave of his hand, but he gave me a smile, small but sweet. I was grateful, it was easy to settle into the silence between us. He closed his eyes then, his eyelashes casting delicate silver shadows on his cheeks. I stared at him, my hands itching to brush away the hair that had fallen once again across his eyes.  

Gathering tentative courage, I whispered, half hoping he wouldn’t hear.  

“I love you.” I stared down at the table for a moment, before wrenching my eyes up to see his eyes fluttering open. My hands reached halfway across the smooth table. At my feathery brush, his hands jerked away. And that, hurt more than anything he could have said.  

“Huh,” he mumbled, his eyes drifting shut again, “Such a hopeless romantic.” He whispered, more to himself than to me, the corners of his mouth quirking up. Even though I expected rejection, the table swam before my eyes.  

“I do.” I continued, proud that my voice didn’t waver, “I’m not asking for anything from you. Not kisses in the rain, or roses on Valentines, you don’t…I mean, I just…I just…do.” I finished in a whisper, afraid to lift my eyes. I told myself I didn’t want him to see the shimmering liquid, but in truth, I didn’t want the pain of seeing the rejection in his eyes. When I felt his fingers brush across my eyelids, my head jerked up, eyes wide and staring into his own dark serious orbs. A hint of smile spread, though I could have just been my imagination.  

“I’m no knight in shining armor. I’m not even that good of a person.” He laughed bitterly, “But I’ll do what I can.” Something rose in my chest, something raw and powerful. Here was everything I’ve ever wanted, everything I’ve ever hoped for. It was wrong, cruel, to tease me with something always out of my reach, but…  

My heart broke, and broke and broke until I was sure there was nothing left but the bleeding pieces, still so full of this aching hope. “Secret cups of coffee in the middle of the night,” Leaning closer, he clinked our mugs together, a half-smile on his face, “Songs, sung with just you in mind.” He touched his lips, eyes sincere. I laughed then, light and breathless. “These things.” He took my hands, his nimble fingers dancing a little tune on my palm, “With you.” I half-hiccupped, half laughed. “This I can do.”  

“Forever?” I wanted to say, but my throat was too clogged, too tight with this painful feeling. “and ever and ever?” He just laughed.  

“Yes. For eternity.” He smiled. I just smiled back.  

“Is this my happy ending?” I whispered wistfully.  

“No,” He paused, a thoughtful look on his face, “No.” Moving over, he suddenly pulled me into a hug, his lips tickling my ear.  

“This is our once upon a time.”