Chapter Text
PP walks through the dusty antique shop, eyes not focusing on anything in particular. Truthfully, he doesn’t know why he’s here or what he’s looking for. It had been a week since his mother’s funeral, a week since the person he loved most in the entire world had been buried, and along with her, a part of his soul. He felt a gaping hole form in his heart and his days had been filled with him aimlessly wandering the city, unwilling to go home to an empty house where memories of his mother still linger in the walls.
His eyes fall on a large black case tucked away in the corner. Pulling it out carefully, he realises it’s a saxophone case. His mind instantly takes him back to some of his brightest childhood memories of his mother playing the sax. She wasn’t a professional by any means, but the melodious tunes had bathed the house in a warm, loving glow.
“We’ve had this one for quite awhile,” the owner of the store speaks up from behind him. PP turns to look at the old man.
“She’s old and needs some fixing up to work. I can open the case if you’d like to take a look?” the man asks.
Unexpectedly, PP finds himself nodding. The moment he set his eyes on the semi-broken instrument, he instantly knew he was going to take it home. The body of the saxophone had oxidised and lacked its shine and he instantly felt a connection towards it. He felt like he could see himself in the dull instrument, a little broken and faded, and in need of something to fulfil it. At the side of the instrument, two letters had been scratched onto the surface:
B.K.
“I have no idea what that means,” the old man says, “perhaps it was the previous owner.”
Perhaps it had been left behind too.
So that very night, PP lugs the heavy case home but his heart feels just a little lighter.
***
After bringing it back, he had spent hours and hours cleaning and polishing it, handling it with care and making sure not to miss any nook or cranny. He had also sent it to a professional to get it fixed.
Finally after three days, he holds the saxophone in his hands. The instrument is in a much better state than it was before and PP holds it up to the light to watch its gold surface glimmer prettily. Now all it needs is for someone to play it.
And therein lies the biggest problem.
PP doesn’t know the first thing about playing the sax. His mum had never really gotten round to teaching him and he had never been all that much interested in it anyways. He couldn’t help but feel a twinge of regret, feeling like he had missed out on a connection with his mother, like another part of her had slipped away.
He snapped himself out of it, and channeled all those emotions into motivation to learn how to play. He could definitely do it.
For her. For himself.
***
The door closed with a heavy thud, the sound echoing in the quiet, empty space of the house. PP plops down on the sofa with a loud sigh, his blank eyes focusing on the picture of his mum he keeps on the table.
It’s been exactly a year since she passed and PP just got back from visiting her grave. His heart still aches with loss, but the pain has lost its sharp edge and he had run out of tears to cry a long time ago.
And yet, the silence of the house weighs down on him with calls to fill it, so he picks up the saxophone he keeps in the corner of the living room. He’s gotten a lot better with just a year of practice. Nowhere near how good his mum was, but he’s learnt a couple of songs and he knows she would be proud of how far he’s come.
He closes his eyes and takes a breath before playing the first note of You’re My Heart, You’re My Soul. The music fills the room, running down every corridor and hallway. The melody is warm and familiar, it was one of the first songs he had tried to learn. His mum had never had a favourite artist or song, she wasn’t the type of person who could remember song titles, lyrics, or musicians’ names. He was pretty sure she had never played this song on the sax either. But he remembers the old Modern Talking CD she used to have on repeat in the car when he was a kid and so he felt like he was playing for his mum to listen to.
As he pours his soul into the song, a sheen of golden light bleeds past his closed eyelids, growing in its intensity. Confused, he opens his eyes to see the instrument in his hands glowing brighter and brighter.
“What..?” he whispers to himself.
A part of him thinks maybe he should run, that the saxophone is going to explode and burn the whole house down. But before he could even take a step, a burst of white light suddenly consumes the whole room, blinding PP for a moment. The place where his hands touch the instrument grew warmer and warmer and somehow…softer? It didn’t feel like cold metal anymore and a warm sensation like gentle fingers envelops his hands.
When the light finally dims, PP flutters his eyes open, and the sight in front of him makes him stunned all over again.
Standing in front of him was a dashing young man. He looked like a prince out of a fairytale in his green velvet suit and his styled hair. His warm brown eyes gazed at PP fondly, as if this stranger knew him well, somehow pinning PP’s feet to the floor.
“W-What? I-… W-Who? How-…?” PP tries to ask, but his brain seems to have lost the ability to formulate a cohesive sentence.
The stranger gave his hands a gentle squeeze, “I’m sure you have a lot of questions. I’ll explain everything.”
***
PP stares incredulously at the man sitting next to him. He had introduced himself as Billkin, a small-time saxophone player who had dreams of being an established musician. Everything else he had just told PP threw him for a loop and he’s starting to wonder if this was all some weird dream or maybe he should get checked into a psych ward.
“So…you were cursed?” PP questions.
“Yes.”
“And she turned you into a saxophone?”
“Yes.”
“Because you didn’t love her?”
“Well, yes. I put my soul into my music, I guess I just couldn’t give it to her.”
PP fell silent then. He really had no idea what to say or think.
“I’m sorry for dumping all this on you,” Billkin speaks up when PP doesn’t say anything, “It’s fine if you want me to leave…” He looks down at his lap with a sad expression, looking very much like a kicked puppy, then moves to get off the sofa but the other man stops him.
“…Do you even have anywhere to go anyway?”
Billkin thinks for a moment, shaking his head slowly when he realises he doesn’t.
“You can sleep here tonight. I’ll get you some clothes.”
Billkin looks up with surprise. He didn’t expect that offer when PP had already been more than gracious for listening to his story, and not running away immediately. He grasps PP’s hands in his, holding on tightly, “Thank you so much.”
With Billkin’s warm hands once again gripping his tightly like a lifeline, PP feels his heartbeat speed up and he tries not to fidget under the musician’s earnest gaze. He was already reeling from the flood of information he was still trying to process, he really didn’t need this handsome prince of a man looking at him like he hung just the moon in the sky.
“You’re welcome,” he manages to get out, and quickly pulls his hands back and stands to rush to his room for the night.