It's all dark. All around me; enticingly coating all my surroundings, there is darkness.

Blazing obscurity.  Echoing in the distance; the second bell.

Emanating from the far left of the room is a little gasp.  Imminently small, almost inaudible; barely perceptible in the acute silence encompassing our own miniature kingdom.

The narrowness of the room allows me to contemplate with ease his heaving chest with each rise and fall of his breath, heard deep and penetrating through my captive ears, already burning with the possible repercussions of my decision.

Reaching behind my own bed, I try to feel for the object occupying my preoccupations.

As I grip its elongated neck, careful not to strum the cords, I take a deep breath of my own.

“Hey Mello!” the excited redhead nearly shouted as he made his way to the common room, almost tripping over the younger ones’ toys as he hurried over to where the blonde was sat reading his book, guitar tugging dangerously loose from under his left arm.

“Hey,” the blonde responded as he quickly made an indentation on his book and delicately placed it down to his left to allow the remaining space of the couch, which was slightly crooked diagonally from all the use the agitated young children had inflicted upon it during break time, to be occupied by his friend.

Jade eyes peered from under crimson strands, fixating on the book now resting on the edge of the sofa.

“Keats again?” inquired Matt while arching an eyebrow.

His eyes were met with the narrowed icy blue of the blonde sat beside him.

“Yes, Matt. You had something to show me?” Came the unusually calm response.

“Oh yeah! Check this out!” bellowed the younger one energetically while taking hold of the guitar and positioning it over his left shoulder.

His eyes quickly flashed to Mello, who was now devouring a chocolate bar.
The window perched behind them infiltrated rays of light that softly rested on the golden of his hair, highlighting it so his features softened. The clarity was reflected in the aqua of his eyes.

For a second, there was silence. Then the strong bite off Mello’s chocolate interrupted it, and his nod gave Matt the necessary leeway.

Said gamer's lips clenched in concentration; whether it be mock or not was yet to be known, as he gave an experimental strum. Seemingly content, he sat up straighter and continued gliding his fingers through the strands; Mello’s watch continually fixated on those motioning, drawn-out fingers.

The tune seemed to indicate a rock melody, a sound that would appear more plausible coming from an electric guitar rather than an acoustic one.

Thereupon, Matt’s voice started drawing out a sound that moulded into faint wording, subsequently rising into a crescendo that explored the hidden huskiness of the thirteen-year-old’s voice.

It took his companion a few seconds to wake from his daze and recognize the lyrics.

“...they’re here to stay. Oh, I believe, in yesterday.”

“Wait...The Beatles?” He proclaimed, more than anything, musing aloud.

His fair face contorted in confusion. The lyrics appeared to be correct, but the tune of the guitar and harmony in which they were sung were nothing like the Beatles at all!

“Oh yesterday, came suddenly.” finished Matt, positively grinning, probably at the trace of bewilderment on his friend’s face.

“I reinvented it.” stated the make-do rocker nonchalantly, smile still drawn on his face.

“You reinvented...The Beatles?” replied the blonde with a tinge of sarcasm in his voice.

“Well,” Matt continued while reclining against his seat, “not exactly. We just finished learning the original in guitar lessons. The lyrics are the same, but I got kind of bored with the music. So I tweaked it a little” he concluded with a smile.

"'Tweaked' as in, completely modified?”  Mello affirmed, rather than questioned, while mirroring the actions previously taken by the boy now carelessly scattered on the recliner of the settee.

Emerald eyes locked with ocean blue as their faces stood parallel from one another.

“More like, made it my own.” Matt asserted, smirking.

"You know, when I was 'modifying' the song, if you will," he continued in an overtly courteous manner, adding a brazen wink towards Mello’s direction, “I was thinking of you."

“That so?” Mello playfully replied in a tone way too innocent for the perilous blonde, softly flicking a strand of his hair back.

“Yeah” Matt replied, seemingly content with his advances “in the way that you don’t always like to abide by the norms. That you make things your own.”

“I thought that you changed it to your standards of music” Mello spoke while looking at those shielded emeralds. They locked with his own eyes for an interminable moment where, he thought, anything was possible.

Matt’s hand slowly reached for the frail ones of the young blonde and his fingers traced the outline of the speechless boys’ to his right. Decked in black, his dark sleeves contrasted with the alabaster and purity of his skin, glistening in the few rays of sunshine that the winter day allowed.

“I did” he replied softly, as he gently placed his hand on top of that of the older boy, the smooth surface tingling under his touch.

“But every melody I hear reminds me of you.”

Skimming through the events of that day, I feel inundated by so many feelings.

I feel regret. Even I'm surprised by this, but there's a feeling of uneasiness, a ticking anxiousness that could only be classified as regret.  

Not at what I'm about to do. Matt deserves to have a thoughtful present, for once.

Not at what I'm about to share. I had taken the, albeit rather impulsive, final decision when I had snuck into the music room earlier that day and taken the instrument now resting on my lap.

No, the regret was that this is the best I'll be able to give him...

The bell chimes for the eighth time, and with that an electrifying shiver of anticipation runs through my spine.

In my mind is the preoccupation that I'm about to share my feelings in a way that intertwined him and his world with my own.

The image of his burgundy hair obstructing those luscious willow eyes when his head hangs above the guitar, his lips either clasped in concentration or loosely pouted as he immerses himself in the tune... It makes me smile, how he can lose himself in the music.  

Roger thought he'd found the Holy grail when he insisted Matt start playing an instrument instead of being so enmeshed in the, as he so inaptly put it, “playing of electronic devices."

As part of the deal, Matt got to choose his own instrument. He seemed rather taken with the guitar, and Roger was happy enough that he didn’t spend all his free time in the company of his gameboy.

I always wondered what he thought when he played. Matt always liked to stay somewhat detached.

Not that he didn’t show his feelings with me, but tapping into them during the day seemed unnecessary. It complicated things to allow counteractive feelings in when he felt like being easygoing, he said.

But those feelings, when he played...they weren’t counteractive. He seemed so content when played.  

“Every melody I hear reminds me of you.”

I grip the guitar closer to myself in a wince of hastiness. I want the bell to chime twelve, I want to see Matt’s ruffled hair and surprised expression, I want to hear the fitting laugh that only he can get away with.

An image of yesterday’s occurrence flashes through my brain.

Me intruding the music department when I knew Matt was going to be in the common room immersed in gaming, and asking Mr. Jacobs, the Music teacher, if he could teach me some basics.

The, albeit rather surprised at the urgency of my sudden interest in guitar, chipper Mr. Jacobs agreed to spend the afternoon with me in the sunlit room, rays of airy light lucently illuminating us; even slightly warming the harmonious instrument, both burning ablaze under the radiant daylight and softly furnishing my upper body against the crudeness of the white walls.

Long after Mr. Jacobs had gone, leaving me some time alone to practise at my request; and the welcoming daylight swiftly faded into the background, I was still motioning through the notes that I was taught, as well as just strumming through my own accord, during which my eyes weren’t particularly settled on anything. My orbs roamed around the room, finally unyielding upon the rusted book settled on the corner of the desk. I’d forgotten I left it there when I came in.

Perched between the almost tangibly throbbing guitar and rusty book, I came to a sudden realization.  Abruptly awakened with inspiration, I quickly clutched the object at the desk, “Poetry of Elizabeth Browning” drafted upon the cover, beckoning a smile to my face.

The sound of the eleventh bell of the night clanging in the distance brings me back to the current reality.

It seems time had moved so slow until now. Just a second now, one more second.
Grasping the guitar, I inhale deeply one last time. During the moment that my breath is held, time seems to stand still, and at its release, appears to furiously accelerate.

The bell chimes for a twelfth time, marking thus the beginning of an era.

The first of February. The day that Matt, the boy seemingly resting peacefully in the bed next to mine; and above all else, a loyal friend and genuinely good person, was born fourteen springs ago.

I know that one day, I will probably end up dragging him down with me. He doesn’t seem to care about that. I do.

My hands slowly glide through the stringed cords, a flowing melody permeating the room.

I see Matt stir, shifting. He hazily opens his eyes and lays there, still, for a moment.
Then his eyes deflect to his right, where he is met with me; sitting on my bed, playing the guitar.

The look on his face screams both surprise and confusion; I reckon it’s a perfect time to continue.

“How do I love thee? Let me count the ways,” I start, harmoniously, in a sing-song voice appropriate to the tune. I feel my cheeks slightly burning already at what I was conveying. I look up at Matt, who is now sitting up on his bed, a look of elated confusion taking over his face.

“I love thee to the depth and breadth and height” I continue, this time directly locking eyes with Matt’s shocked green orbs piercing into mine. A smile slowly starts slithering onto his features.

A true smile. He smiles with his eyes, that smile that can make me feel warm inside.

“I love thee with a passion put to use, in my old griefs, and with my childhood's faith” I strive on.

Glancing up at Matt, the tiniest sparkle glistening in his eye. The threat of tears trapped behind his lashes.

“I love thee with a love I seemed to lose with my lost saints... I love thee with the breath, Smiles, tears, of all my life! --- and, if God choose, I shall but love thee better after death.”

Matt’s facial expression had ranged from confused, to surprised, to elated, then sad.

I don’t know what array of emotions he’s feeling as he slowly rises from his bed, and slowly paces towards mine.

Sitting down on my right side, he looked me in the eye with force, as if through sheer will he could communicate all his feelings to me with one single gaze.
His glance was almost defiant; but soft, quivering, questioning.

He shuffles closer still, closing the distance between us by wrapping his arms around the nape of my neck. His eyes still locked into mine.

“Happy birthday, Jeevas” I smile.

Immediately, I feel the warmth of his mouth in a melting kiss, his hands still tugging me lightly, his lips ardent with desire.

Slowly parting from each other, he shuffles his head so our foreheads touch, and I can feel the warmth of his breath intertwining with mine.

“Thank you” he says, his forehead still pressed against mine, his arms still encircling my neck.

“This is already the best birthday ever” he utters, planting another chaste kiss on my lips; “Mel” he adds. I narrow my eyes at him in disapproval of the nickname, but he beams.

“Hey, no one’s here. And it’s my birthday, I figured I could get away with it.” he smiles cheerily.

Before I can verbalize a single word, he falls forward into an embrace, and into the depths of my T-shirt comes the muffled sound of something resembling “I love you too, Mihael Kheel.”

********************************************************************************
The blonde awoke to the absence of the redhead previously planted beside him, encircled in his arms during the night now passed, sleeping contentedly against his chest.

At the first scintillate flash of dawn, when the illuminated golden strands of the brazen blonde were soothed back by the blissful boy at his side, had he disappeared with a plan in mind.

And so, arising alone, all the blonde boy could find by his pillow was what was instantly recognized as a bar of chocolate, wrapped in an almost enfeebled paper, roughly edged with a yellow tinge, most likely torn out from a book.

Now much more energized, he picked up the chocolate and slowly unravelled the paper covering it.

Upon opening it to its full size, the bemused blonde was able to perceive a written inscription.

“I don't love you as if you were the salt-rose, topaz
or arrow of carnations that propagate fire:
I love you as certain dark things are loved,
secretly, between the shadow and the soul.
I love you as the plant that doesn't bloom and carries
hidden within itself the light of those flowers,
and thanks to your love, darkly in my body
lives the dense fragrance that rises from the earth.
I love you without knowing how, or when, or from where,
I love you simply, without problems or pride:
I love you in this way because I don't know any other way of loving
but this, in which there is no I or you,
so intimate that your hand upon my chest is my hand,
so intimate that when I fall asleep it is your eyes that close.”

Just as had happened to his friend the night before, moisture lurked behind the lashes of the young boy, as he read, neatly penned, in large letters, the two single words allotted at the bottom of the page.

“Always, Matt.”