Eisen finally ascended the stairs, triumphant over car and puddle alike, and was about to reach his hand out to open the door when an all-too-familiar sound struck his ears. Guitar strings. Not just any guitar strings, though. His guitar. He knew the sound because the mahogany guitar he’d gotten three years ago sounded so much better than the ash one he’d had prior and for a second, he was confused, until his brain clicked into place and he realized that…Rory was playing.
Yes, he decided, when he heard the voice rasping through the song (there was nothing wrong with rasp or rawness, either. Eisen’s own voice had more than its fair share of rasp and rawness in it and no one complained; some even thought he was good), that it was very much his best friend’s voice. It wasn’t perfect; a few notes were a little flat in both voice and string, but he felt a smile crawl across his face as he leaned closer to the door and listened. That smile only lasted until he heard the context of the song. Yes, it was hopeful, but at the same time, he heard the emotion in which his best friend was putting into it and the words…god, the words. Of course he wanted to run. Of course he wanted the one thing that he couldn’t have. It wasn’t like anyone could-
Lexie. Lexie could. He’d thought about it before in passing, given consideration to the idea, but never seriously thought about it both because Rory would deny it and he didn’t know the toll it would take on Lexie. But this…hearing Rory – cool, collected, ‘okay with everything’ Rory – this emotional settled it. He’d ask Lexie first. When, he didn’t know. But he would.
It was hard to push back the lump that had formed in his throat, but only when he managed did he reach for the doorknob and turn it, smirking at his best friend as he walked through the door. “That was good,” he said softly. “Why didn’t you tell me you were learning to play?”
Depositing the food on the coffee table, he didn’t even bother to shed his coat or shoes yet, before walking around behind Rory and eyeing the guitar over his shoulder. “One thing, though.” He reached down and took Rory’s hand in his, sliding it up the fretboard and pushing his fingers down over the right frets. “Try this instead. On the ‘his morning messenger’ part. It might sound a little cleaner.” There were a couple more, but they could start there.