He nods. “Then he emailed me your unreleased debut song. ‘Garden.’ You know, the song you were so odd about? He asked me to listen, anyway, and see if I’d like to work on your cover and I… Well, I ended up listening to your track all night.”
Calvin’s quiet, so Miles forces himself to look up. He’smet with what he can only describe as embarrassment, Calvin’s face and ears red and his mouth a thin line.
“It was really, really damn good,” Miles says, holding his gaze. He rubs a thumb against Calvin’s palm. “I started sketching while listening to it on loop, then by the time the sun rose my sketchbook was out of pages. Then… yeah.” He exhales. “It’s really stupid, but that’s why I’m obsessed with your songs. ‘Garden’ got me out of my slump, like Mom said. Honestly, it wasn’t only a slump. I was depressed. I guess Mom doesn’t like using that word, though.”
He remembers it. Matthew had tried so hard. He had sat on the edge of his bed, nudging his arm, telling him he had to get out of his room. Gabby stood by his door, pleading, telling him not to drop out of university. Mom, also still grieving, begged him to talk. Nothing worked until he absently scrolled through his notifications and saw the email with their song attached to it. He’s pretty sure he had clicked on it by accident, when he was trying to actually delete it like all the other messages he got.
“Hey.” Calvin pokes him. “Our music wouldn’t have been able to cheer you up like that. That was all you.”
“Nah.” He shakes his head. It’s strange—there’s a tight feeling in his chest, and it doesn’t feel horrible. The way Calvin looks at him has that effect. “I’m not joking. The reason I didn’t stop painting, was able to graduate, and get a job at a gallery—it was all because of you. Even the art I did for your first album was how I got my first clients because people would get in touch with me for it for new projects.”
Miles doesn’t realize until he’s said it that he saidyouinstead ofyour music.He gets that now, that Calvin was the reason he ever became himself again. He was the reason he didn’t wither away.
“I suppose I have a confession as well,” Calvin admits.
“What?”
“I wrote ‘Garden’ because of that painting you did for your dad.”
What?
Calvin laughs awkwardly. “I went here with my family a few years ago and saw it on the wall. Took a picture and thought it’d match what we had in mind for our album cover, and Derrick contacted you for the job. Anyway, I kind of overhauled the words to the song we were working on based on your art, because… it just worked. That’s when Derrick sent you one of our early recordings.”
He’s surprised enough that he drops Calvin’s hands, and Calvin leans away and puts them in the pockets of his jacket.
Miles doesn’t know what to do with the thrumming in his chest. Calvin chuckles awkwardly, clearly embarrassed by his own confession.
“Small world,” Calvin grins shyly.
“That’s why you were so odd about ‘Garden.’ You could’ve just told me.”
“I was going to tell you eventually, but then I kept putting it off too long; then it felt weird to ever bring it up. Then you told me about how you painted it for your dad, and it felt as if I was… intruding on something very personal to you.”
“Nope.” Miles shakes his head fervently. “Definitely not. You’re right though, what a small world. Does that mean I could’ve met you years ago, even before your band released your debut? Like youwere actually staying at our inn?”
He shrugs. “I did ask the front desk back then about who did the paintings downstairs, but they said you weren’t available.”
Because he had been cooped up in his room.
It all clicks into place now—why Calvin said he’s been a fan of his work for some time now, why he had been so weird about their debut song, and why the song spoke to him in such an intimate way.
It’s unreal.
Calvin’s phone rings, and he startles. When he takes his phone out, Miles knows that conversation’s likely over. Calvin’s expression pinches and he mumbles that he has to take this. He walks to the parapet, and Miles is left sitting there trying to reorganize his thoughts.
Miles is quiet for a long while. He rests his elbows on the table and covers his face with a hand, attempting to calm down the way his heart’s racing. Calvin is faced away from him and leaning against the parapet, toward the direction of the lake, talking on his phone.
He knows what he wants, and what he wants is Calvin.
Calvin ends the phone call, but he continues to type something into it, his shoulders tense, and Miles gets up and follows him before he can convince himself not to. He puts a tentative hand on the small of Calvin’s back, and Calvin glances over his shoulder with a puzzled expression.
“You saved me,” Miles says, which is over-the-top dramatic, but he doesn’t care.
“What?” He lets out a soft laugh and turns until they’re facing each other, then Calvin sees the expression on Miles and hiseyebrows crinkle together.
This should be easier, but it isn’t. Miles should outright say that he wants to kiss him, that he’s wanted to for some time now, but he can’t quite find the words. Instead, he puts a hand on Calvin’s cheek to see where that gets him—and Calvin’s eyes widen and redness blooms across his face, then he leans into his hand, ever so slightly.
Miles steps closer and puts his forehead against his, and Calvin’s not saying anything, even when the tips of their noses brush together. He can feel warm breath on his lips, and he’s not being pushed away, and that’s really all the answer he needs, so he gets rid of the little space between them and kisses him.
