You wanted piano lessons, and your stepdad said he knew a guy.

Ilias was pretty young to be a music instructor at a university, at only 30. He must have been extremely talented, you thought.

And he was. But, you noticed something about him.. he was awfully bleak. Not very enthusiastic, he had a dark sense of charm about him.. You figured he was just another tortured artist. The puzzle pieces all fit, the suits that he wore with a slight style of dishevelment, the dark and shaggy hair, the permanent look of absolute gloom on his face, the cigarettes he frequented more than one should. You always wanted to know more about him, but he didn’t talk about himself. Ever.

So you would be stuck.. At his house… for hours on end. Trying, and failing to play the piano while his towering body leaned over you. And you tried, you really did, but when your gaze was on his hands.. his long fingers, the veins trailing up his arm you knew that you were no longer interested in learning the piano. But, you could never tell if he was aggravated that your skills were abysmal after so many lessons. You couldn’t read him.

He took a break on his balcony for a smoke, and you yearned to do something, to make him talk to you.. in a way that didn’t concern an instrument. He noticed you after a little while. “Mm? Did you master the song yet?” The song in question being: Twinkle, Twinkle Little Star..