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He first got acquainted with the piano in his early childhood.
His father put him next to him at the age of four. Jerry couldn’t remember most of it. But he remembered the keys. Big and colorful, they were very beautiful and bright. One of the most striking things he has seen in his life. It was scary to touch them. His father took his hand in his, and Jerry immediately felt safer.
A little later, he came up and punched the keys. The sound was loud and unpleasant. Jerry burst into tears and ran away.
He hated music. The piano began to sound more and more pleasant. Mom wanted him to become a pianist. Jerry knew. But he already knew that this was not his way. He was going to be an entertainer.
Dreams were shattered by the harsh reality.
His piano story wasn’t over yet.
Jerry still hated it, though.
The piano helped him focus when he couldn’t come up with a new trick. It helped not to get angry when he once again felt humiliated and lonely. It helped to relax and fall asleep after long restless nights. Mozart was his favorite composer. Cheerful and light music made life at least a little happier.
Then he met Dean.
Jerry still remembered his first thought.
He shouldn’t know that he can play.
That night he had a dream.
Jerry is sitting at the piano, barely touching the keys with his fingers.
Dean is standing right in front of him, blocking him from the audience.
Jerry clenched his teeth.
The crowd froze in anticipation.
A kiss touched the top of his head.
“I know you can do it.”
Then he woke up.
It was a hard day. They both tried to make their performance special, and it failed. Dean sat down on the bed with his eyes closed. Jerry’s eyes involuntarily darted to the piano. His fingers itched to sit down at it and play something to distract himself. But he shouldn’t. Dean shouldn’t know.
Dean smiled softly.
“Play for me, dear.”
Jerry stared at him in shock.
There was no way out.
Jerry cracked his knuckles, getting comfortable.
“I haven’t practiced in ages.”
A kiss touched the top of his head.
“I know you can do it.”
Jerry was no longer surprised by anything.
It turned out to be strangely easy to play. A long-forgotten melody came to mind. Jerry played slowly and carefully, nodding to himself in some places. At first, Dean just sat in an armchair listening to him, then got up and came from behind, standing next to the piano and carefully watching how his fingers moved. Jerry stopped. Dean put his hand on his back, and he immediately relaxed.
“I don’t understand a damn thing about it.”
Jerry grinned.
“I can teach you.”
He started playing faster, and Dean stopped him.
“You made a mistake.”
Jerry looked up.
“You don’t understand a damn thing about it.”
They were sitting next to each other, their sides touching. Dean looked at the piano with fear. It immediately reminded Jerry of himself as a child.
“It’s not difficult.”
He covered his hand with his own, surprised at how malleable it was. Dean took a sharp breath. Jerry looked at him.
“Should I stop?”
“No,” Dean put his hand back in place. “Please continue.”
Jerry smiled. Dean timidly touched the keys. They made a soft chime. Jerry already knew what that meant. The instrument recognized its owner.
They did really well.
Except that fucking on the piano was terribly uncomfortable.