That goddamn musical doorbell. His mother had installed it years ago, and every time it rang, a snippet of Beethoven’s Ninth played in excruciatingly fake harmonics. After some time, it would annoy anybody, but at midnight, a doorbell is as unwelcome as the one who rings it.

Disturbed from the few minutes’ sleep he had accumulated, Adrian got up out of bed. He was tired, he had just come off his shift at the pizzeria he worked at; twenty years old and already a manager, no college necessary to the chagrin of his parents. Though really, they had no room to talk. His father was a minister in the local parish, his mother, a dutiful housewife like there hadn’t been since the Eisenhower administration. Adrian considered the Christ-romp to be ridiculous, but he didn’t utter a bit of it to his father.

He uttered plenty to that other father as he stalked to the window. Leaning his forearms heavily on the windowsill, he looked down. He saw the sea. It was dark, and looked to be quite warm, like tar, and it rolled without a single raised voice into itself. He looked down again.

He saw Julian.

Julian didn’t see him. Julian was swaying from side to side like an ocean himself, surprisingly fluid. He was flailing his arm towards the doorbell, but couldn’t quite pinpoint the butchery of the dead composer a second time. Adrian groaned. He hadn’t seen Julian in a week, had left him in a drunken stupor. It was like no time had passed at all. Resigned, he went for the window latch. Swinging it wide, he shout-whispered down:

“There’d better be a good excuse for this, or I’ll be playing “catch the knives” with your drunken ass.”

Julian looked up, clearly gripped by some dilemma. Adrian knew what was coming.

“Dude, I’ve been thinking about it more and more, and I really, honestly do think that I’m in love with you! Weird right? Want to come down and give me a k-“

“How much have you been drinking? Notice this only happens when you’re drinking?”

“Everything’s so much clearer when I’ve been drinking! I’m just following my gut instincts!”

“More like the instincts of your damaged liver. Now you know I don’t judge, but my dad would send me to an electro shock camp just for being around you! And I’m not gay.” He added. “I mean, remember Vanessa?”