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Phil really doesn’t mind his job. Making sure freshmen don’t drink themselves to death isn’t too bad of a trade for the relief his wallet feels with his discounted tuition. Plus, he likes making the colorful bulletins, dragging PJ with him to Michaels to buy puffy foam paint and bargain bin washi tape. The other RA’s in his building are nice enough, and Phil doesn’t get stuck with the infamous closing shift often.
It’s his turn tonight; the little wheel behind the desk at the lobby spun and spun until it landed on his name, cut from ocean blue cardstock and decorated with glitter glue. The job isn’t too hard, just monitoring the hallways at midnight, then 2am, and locking up the laundry and cramped study rooms on the bottom floor.
The key ring digs cold and heavy into Phil’s hand. It would be easier to clip it to his belt loop, like Bryony does, but he thinks it’ll come off more dorky than fashionable. Usually by 2am, the study rooms have cleared out; the more committed students tend to stick to the towering library near the dining hall. Sometimes he’ll get a straggler, but they usually head out with a knock at the door.
Tonight, he could hear music coming from the study room tucked away in the furthest corner from the staircase, rushed notes leaking out under the worn wooden door frame. It sounds tinny, like it was coming from a shitty speaker, the notes crackling and popping in the thick basement air. Phil raised his fist and knocked at the door, and promptly heard a loud crash.
“Er. Sorry,” he heard a muffled voice cry out, embarrassed.
Phil cracked the door open slightly with a creak. A little plastic keyboard was lying haphazardly on the floor; its metal stand tiled to the side, like someone was startled and knocked it over. Loose sheet music was scattered across the concrete floor, and a harried boy was hunched over a backpack frantically trying to shove papers inside. At the sound of the door, he turned towards Phil with huge eyes.
“Oh. Sorry. Again.” His voice was a little posh. He turned his head back to his backpack. “Shit.”
Phil felt like he was intruding on something. “It’s really no problem,” he started, trying not to scare him off. “I just gotta lock up the room when you’re done.” He smiled sheepishly.
The guy nodded, his brown fringe falling into his face, and he started to pack up at double the speed. Phil swore he saw his ears go a molten red. He didn’t want to be a creep, so he continued his rounds of locking up doors. He heard the loud creak of the door opening and harried footsteps up the concrete stairs.
Phil called out a “Thanks” to the empty hallway.
*
Luck was not on Phil’s side this week. He was three iced coffees in, and passed his closing shift hunched over at the front desk, squinting at his Lit assignment on his laptop. The document on his screen was a glaring white, and Phil swore he could see neon green spots floating in his vision long after he closed his work.
When his 2am alarm went off, he was eager for a break. He followed the same claustrophobic staircase down to the cinderblock basement, tracing his fingers on the divots in the wall. He heard the faint noise of an electric keyboard, this time the repeated chorus to a Radiohead song, and he followed the music around the corner and past the laundry room. He held his fist up to knock, but the music stopped abruptly. Whoever was inside had probably heard his footsteps. Phil opened the door anyway.
“Hey,” he called out into the small room, “It’s you playing this music, right?” The guy looked around the room slowly, like there was another keyboard player lurking behind him and he just hadn’t noticed. He blinked.
“It’s really good,” Phil continued, flashing a smile.
“Um. Thanks,” he uncrossed his legs and stood up from the floor, making a move to the desk chair shoved into the corner of the room.
“I’m Phil,” he continued, “The RA. On the second floor.” He ran a hand through his fringe nervously.
“Dan.” He fidgeted with his hands. “Did you really like it?” He almost seemed eager to know, but he spoke like he was ready for Phil to grab his notebook and feed it to a shredder.
“Yeah,” he tilted his head to the side, his hair falling into his face, “Radiohead, right?”
Dan smiled back, dimple and all, and Phil felt like he won the lottery.
“Yeah. It is.”
*
Phil really didn’t want luck to be on his side, but the wheel landed on Bryony’s sticker covered name. But it didn’t take much convincing for her to swap shifts with Phil, and he even got free coffee out of it.
The wait until 2am was honestly peaceful. He liked feeling like he was the only person awake in the building. Phil welcomed the quiet of the first floor, only looking up from his book when a student came stumbling through the front door, keycard fumbling with either the exhaustion of a straight-A student, or with the aftershocks of a loud drunken night.
He just glanced at the desktop screen that flashed each student’s face after signing in, and waved off the freshmen tiredly. He was lost in annotating his reading with a slew of colored pens, nicked from PJ’s backpack. When his final alarm went off, Phil felt like he jumped out of his own skin, leaving his skeleton behind spinning on the desk chair.
Clutching both his coffee and the keyring in one hand, he lumbered down to the basement. A little voice in the back of his brain wanted him to stumble into the mysterious keyboard player, but Phil chalked it up to the caffeine.
The bottom floor was eerily quiet tonight, and he could only hear the rhythmic thud of the laundry room and the air whistling through the rusted vents. Light filtered through the cracks in the doorframe of the study room in the far corner, and after locking up the rest of the doors, Phil decided to take a peek inside.
It was the same guy. He was sat scrolling on his phone, plastic keyboard disregarded to the temptations of Twitter. He looked up at Phil when he saw him walk in.
“Hey,” Dan called out, almost like he was waiting for Phil to stop by.
“Hey,” Phil returned, sitting down on the floor. “Why aren’t you playing tonight?” He thought it was an innocent question, but he regretted asking it when he saw Dan’s face scrunch up.
“Do you ever feel like.” He messed with his fringe. “Like. The one thing you’re kinda good at won’t come out right.”
Phil nodded.
Dan continued. “I feel like I’m fucking it all up. You know?” He laughed dryly. “Kind of a lot to dump on someone you just met. Sorry.”
“It’s fine,” he said reassuringly. “It's late. Or early.” Phil brought his knees to his chest, and leaned on them. I think normal words go away, like, at midnight.” He smiled.
“Yeah, um, I guess so.” Dan smiled back sheepishly. “I think I need a coffee or something,” he blurted out.
“Um. Well, if you don’t have anything going on, I was gonna get one after I locked up.” Phil started fidgeting with the keys. “You can totally join me. You know. If you want.”
Dan said softly, “Yeah, that sounds good.”
*
The campus Starbucks was definitely closed, but the dining hall across campus had a little self-serve coffee maker that was open all night. The walk to the building was a little cool, and held the kind of wetness that the change from winter to spring brings. Phil felt like if he inhaled too hard, he could drown in the heavy air.
Dan walked next to him wrapped up in a warm hoodie, looking disoriented, like he was confused to even be outside right now. The huge glass doors unlocked with the beep of a student ID, and the dining hall was sparsely lit. Phil strode over to the coffee maker with familiar steps, and filled a little brown paper cup to the brim.
He grabbed a handful of sugar packets, and made his way to a table. Ripping the paper open methodically, Phil poured packet after packet into his coffee.
“Holy shit.” Dan’s eyes looked like they were going to bug out of his head. “Isn’t that enough sugar?”
“I guess I’m just a sweet guy,” Phil replied, scrunching his nose. “You can’t tell me you’re one of those freaks who drinks coffee black.”
Dan looked at him with an air of fake drama. “I like it black. Like my soul.” He pulled a very serious face for about three seconds, before bursting out into giggles.
Phil couldn’t help laughing back. “Okay. Pack it up, Morticia Addams.” Dan sighed wistfully, and kicked Phil’s foot under the table.
“So,” Phil started, “you’re always practicing the keyboard at 2am. Are you a music major?”
“God. No.” Dan started messing with the strings of his hoodie. “I’m in law. Six months in.”
“Do you.. like it?” Phil asked cautiously.
Dan laughed, dry and bitter. “Not really. I’m good at arguing, I guess.” He took a sip of coffee. “Not good at much else,” he mumbled into his cup. For a moment, Dan looked like a tidal wave of sadness crashed over his feet, and the currents were threatening to pull him out to sea.
“You have to be joking!” Phil continued, “I’ve heard you play the piano. You’re amazing.” Dan almost looked embarrassed. “Like. You have more musical talent in your little finger than I have in my whole body.”
He laughed sheepishly. “Yeah, yeah, okay. I guess.” His cheeks started turning red. “So what do you do, Mr. RA? You can’t just be bothering future keyboard prodigies”
“Hey! For your information, you’re the only music prodigy, or whatever, I know.” Phil laughed a bit into his coffee. “Anyways, I’m finishing up my bachelors in English.”
“Ohh, are you a writer, or whatever?”
“I’m kind of studying linguistics?” Dan blinked. “It’s like. How words are formed. And why.” He didn’t look any less confused.
“Sounds better than law,” Dan smiled, getting up to throw his plastic cup away. “Walk me back to the residence?”
*
Phil had never wanted to be more unlucky in his life. Pleading with Chris for the closing shift definitely brought him some odd looks, but no one could pass up having the night to themselves. He didn’t even mind the snickering and teasing from his coworkers.
After four late nights, Phil’s blood was mostly iced coffee and whatever takeout his student budget could afford. He’d completely given up on homework, instead opting to watch some weird, independent movie that PJ insisted he had to watch.
Phil didn’t even wait for the 2am alarm to go off, heading downstairs to lock up ten minutes early. Again, the basement was quiet except for the clanking and clambering of pipes. He did his routine like clockwork, and knocked gently on Dan’s door. He was met with a pair of brown eyes looking up at him from the floor.
“Geez. You look tired.”
Phil cracked a smile, “Thanks. Were you waiting for me?” Dan turned bright red.
“Um. Maybe?” He flipped his notebook open. “Who’s to say?” He smiled cheekily.
“Me, you dingbat.” Phil smiled right back. He walked over to where Dan was sitting, and plopped down on the floor. “Play me something?”
Dan grumbled and rolled his eyes, teasing. “Any suggestions?”
“Nope! Surprise me.” Phil leaned his back against the cinderblock wall, and watched.
Dan launched into something fast, but sad- almost haunting. He played chords that reminded Phil of the summer fair back at home; spinning on rides until he wanted to vomit all the sugary foods he scarfed down with his friends. He played slow, then fast, then slow again, like he was feeling the piece out, listening to it and asking questions in return.
Even though he had a slim frame, Dan’s hands were too big for the small keyboard, but he played each note like he was sitting at a baby grand. He then moved quickly across the keys, his movement threatening to knock the sheet music off the bent wire stand. He played like he was stuck in a sandstorm, and then came to an abrupt stop.
The haunting melody from the beginning of the piece returned, and Phil felt like he could tilt his head back and catch the notes on his tongue like snow. As the last notes of the piece rang out, Phil almost felt out of breath. Dan looked at him with his big brown eyes, his face not too far from Phil’s.
“Did you like it? Be honest.” he asked like the question was fragile, almost as if he clawed open his chest to hand Phil a little glass heart, and he was scared it would crack under pressure.
Phil’s throat felt two sizes too big for his body. His eyes crinkled when he looked back at Dan and a smile tugged on his lips.
“I loved it.”