Edgar Vargas enjoyed music. What person didn’t? Particularly, he was fond of classical and spiritual pieces. Ones that put the body in relax mode and gave you time to just sit and think which he’d been doing a lot of recently.

He searched through his CDs, fingers skimming over the sides of cases as he looked for one he hadn’t listened to in a while.

“Quatuor Festetics…” He picked up the particular case and stared down at it for a moment.

Oh, come on! It’s not as if you’ll actually be listening to it! Just pick something out already!

Edgar sighed softly and took the CD out of its case, placing it in his stereo before pushing the tray shut. He pressed play and put the case down.

The first piece sifted through the speakers, dancing gracefully over Edgar’s ears and inside. He lowered himself onto his bed, staring blankly at the wall for a moment, then lowered his back so he was lying down, facing the ceiling instead.

It’s such a lovely view, Edgar. You’re a very exciting person. Never a dull moment with you, really.

Edgar chose to ignore the voice, closing his eyes as the melody of the music drifted serenely around him, cradling him and comforting him.

You know what you should really listen to, Edgar? The Devil’s Trill. I bet our friend Johnny has it.

…

Really, Edgar? How fascinating. Your intelligent response just stupefies me.

Shut up.

Out of habit, Edgar lifted up his hand and touched one of the scars under his glasses delicately with the tips of his fingers. There was a sharp sting and his eyes flew open to look at his fingers, which were tinged with blood.

How…?

As if you really need to ask, Edgar.

…

Another astounding response! You should write a book.

Edgar shook his head slightly and got up, glancing at the stereo as he left his room and entered the bathroom. He glanced in the mirror and gazed as the crimson slid down his cheeks slowly, tickling his skin. “…Shit.”

No, Edgar. That’s blood.

SHUT UP!

“My, such anger, Edgar, really.”

Edgar glanced around him for a moment, confused as to why he’d heard that out loud. He shook his head, then, and turned on the sink, putting his fingers under the water before dabbing the clear drops onto his bleeding scars.

“How boring. All the songs on this CD of yours are the same but with a slightly different pitch.”

“What would you suggest I listen to, then?” Edgar turned the sink off and opened a drawer, searching for a box of band aids.

Within a moment, the stereo began to static and a different song started to play. Edgar was startled, to say the least. “How’d you…?”

“This is much more happy, Edgar.

//There’s something ‘bout the way you looked at me
Made me think for a moment that maybe we were meant to be
Livin’ life separately
It’s strange that things change but I’ve been wantin’ you so desperately//

Edgar quickly put the band aids on the still-bleeding scars below his eyes and walked back into his bedroom. He stared at the stereo. The CD that had been in it was now lying next to it on the dresser. “How’d…”

“As if you really need to ask, Edgar.”

Edgar glanced around frantically. “Where are you?”

//Oh, why can’t I ignore it?
I keep givin’ in but I shoulda known better
‘Cause there was something ‘bout the way you looked at me
And it’s strange that things change but I’ve been wantin’ you so desperately//

There was a slight creak of the bedsprings of Edgar’s mattress.

//You looked my way and said “You frustrate me”
Like you’re thinkin’ of times when you and I were you and me
Take a chance out on the street
Then I missed my chance and chances are it won’t be comin’ back to me//

Edgar slowly turned around, and immediately fell back into his dresser, CDs tumbling to the floor.

Scriabin smiled, crossing his legs as he sat on Edgar’s bed. “Surprise.”

//Why can’t I ignore it?
I keep givin’ in but I shoulda known better
‘Cause there was something ‘bout the way you looked at me
And it’s strange that things change but I’ve been wantin’ you so desperately//

Edgar hurriedly stood up, brushing off his shirt and pants, eyes locked on Scriabin. “How are you…? How did you…?”

“I’ll answer you if you actually manage to complete a question, Edgar.” Scriabin looked at him through his reflective glasses.

//So desperately//

Edgar shook his head and stepped closer to his more handsome look-a-like.

Scriabin held out his hand and Edgar touched it with his fingertips. At the contact of skin, he gasped. “No, this can’t be right… You’re… Not here. You’re not really here.”

//Why can’t I ignore it?
I keep givin’ in but I shoulda known better
‘Cause there was something about the way you looked at me
And it’s strange that things change but I’ve been wantin’ you so desperately//

“Do you think you’re dreaming, Edgar?” Scriabin asked softly, taking a hold of Edgar’s hand and pulling the man towards him.

Edgar toppled forward onto him.

//I’ve been wanting you so desperately//

Scriabin took Edgar’s chin in his hands and brought him forward to kiss him.

//I keep givin’ in but I shoulda known better//

Edgar tensed for a moment, and then brought his hands up to Scriabin’s, fully intent on pulling them away. But he didn’t. Instead he leaned into the kiss.

//I keep givin’ in but I shoulda known better//

Scriabin licked his upper lip before prying Edgar’s mouth open, allowing him to slip his tongue in.

//So desperately//

There was a high-pitched ring and Edgar shot up, carefully noting that he was completely alone in his bed and sweat was pouring off him in buckets.

The phone rang once more and Edgar picked it up, running a hand over his sweaty forehead. “Hello?”

//I want you so desperately//