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“Why do I always have to make it?” John grumbled from the kitchen. Clinking a teaspoon against the rim of one of the steaming mugs of tea he’d brewed, he let out an exaggerated sigh. “You haven’t bought the milk for weeks, either,” he added as an afterthought, frowning as he threw the spoon into the sink; it clattered shrilly as it fell past towering piles of dirty saucepans and used plates.
Easing the two cups of tea from the kitchen counter and cautiously carrying them through to the sitting-room, John continued his verbal list of his flatmate’s flaws. “You hardly ever do the washing, either—” he set the mugs down on the desk with a groan “— and don’t get me started on the hoovering. In fact, you—”
He broke off, listening: soft, timid footsteps echoed from the hall and a gentle knock on the door followed them. Pushing it open with a creak, Mrs Hudson entered the flat. Tears shone in her eyes as she crossed the room to hold a bewildered John in her arms, silencing the various questions his open mouth was about to ask.
“John,” she whispered hoarsely in his ear. ”You’re speaking in the present tense again, love.”
Leaves On The SeineDavid Lanz
Kaiba walked by Mokuba’s room just to peak in and see what his brother was doing. Playing video games, ears covers by outside sound-muting headphones, just like every weekend. He was likely to stay in that exact spot until Kaiba came back to call him for dinner. Good.
The CEO continued down the hall until he headed down the stairs to the foyer, going down the halls until he reached the room he normally had no use for. It could be called a lounge room, but Kaiba was only going there for one reason.
He felt a bit ridiculous, sneaking around as if he was getting caught doing something he wasn’t supposed to. But he couldn’t help it. He wanted to play the piano. But it was only to see what he still knew. That’s what he was telling himself. Just to see if he could still play. Nothing else.
He sat down on the piano bench and stared at the keys for a moment before chewing on his thumb nail. This was ridiculous. There was no point. He should just leave. There was work he could be doing.
Still… He positioned his hands over the keys, taking a deep breath as he decided to press one key, the most basic, a middle C. The sound filled the room, and a slow grin crept across his face against his permission.
He straightened up, letting muscle memory take over at his fingers began to expertly glide over the keys, the familiar song consuming the room. He was playing as if he’d never given the instrument up. Like it was second nature to him.