Sweet Karma [boyxboy]

Chapter Four

Chapter Four (Julian)

I woke up that night to the sound of someone playing the piano.

I was groggy and annoyed at the sound until I recognized it and let my head plop back down onto the pillow of the pull out bed in the living room. I looked at Adam, who was deep asleep. In fact, if I didn't know any better, I'd say the piano music was keeping him asleep. I lifted my head, squinting into the darkness to see someone sitting at the piano.

I slowly sat up and crawled out of bed, pausing to shiver, missing the warmth of the blankets and quilts that Adam and I were using. I walked across the living room, poking my head in to see if it was one of my parents, but much to my surprise, Newell was sitting at the piano, his fingers flying over the keys as he occasionally paused to take a sip of blood wine that was sitting in a tall bottle. I hesitated, glancing around and wondering for a moment if it were a dream before I turned back to Newell, who hadn't seemed to notice me. I leaned against the door frame tiredly, listening to the way his fingers struck the keys to Greensleeves.

It was a pretty simple piece. It was one of the first things I had learned to play, but for some reason, the way Newell played it made it sound more complex. The way he hit the keys and held on the pedal for a moment before dragging on, making the song eerily slow.

"Greensleeves." I said aloud. Newell paused for a moment, his shoulders obviously stiffening before he scoffed and continued to play.

"Of course. I should have figured you were the musically inclined of the family."

"Are you trying to insult me?"

"Not sure. Stop talking." Newell answered flatly and continued to play. I rolled my eyes, then walked in, peering over Newell to watch him play. He struck a key sharply, like he was warning me to back off, but instead, I plopped onto the bench beside him, placing my hands on the keys and hitting a few of them to match with Newell's. He hesitated for a split second before he played.

Now this would be a weird story to tell people.

I woke up in the middle of the night and played the piano with a midget terrorist.

It sounded like a bad set up for a joke. I almost laughed at myself, but Newell's expression was too serious for me to think of anything really funny. The way he focused on the keys like he wanted to beat the living shit out of them, and yet he added just the right amount of pressure to each key.

"Didn't know you knew piano." I said at last. Newell tsked, never once tearing his gaze away as he reached for the bottle, tipping his head back and taking a heavy gulp before placing it back down, continuing the gentle keys, even while I had paused to talk before I picked back up again.

"I was raised to play many instruments. Piano was the only one I could stand." He replied dryly, searching the keys as he played them. For a moment, I wondered if he was drunk. I knew blood wine was far heavier than regular human alcohol, especially with the blood type that was mingled with it. My brother could barely handle a couple sips without getting dead drunk. I wasn't too fond of it either. And the fact that someone like Newell could handle half a bottle without dying was amazing.

"What other instruments did they make you play?" I asked as I played. Newell hummed thoughtfully as he played along, closing his eyes before scrunching his face up in distaste.

"Violin. Cello. Flute. Clarinet. I tried to play the drums at some point, but the sixties didn't last too long." He drawled, opening his eyes again to study the keys. I smirked at that, making Newell glance at me with a questioning scowl as I shook my head.

"Just think it's weird to imagine you with bell bottoms and hippie clothes." I answered, making Newell snort as he shook his head, reaching for another drink of blood wine that made him pause afterwards and make a face before he continued to play.