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He was right, and now that Adrian had mentioned it, Eric’s stomach gave a slight grumble. A break really would be good, and he’d made amazing progress, close to the point where at home, he’d record a demo of himself singing along to the keyboard. He wasn’t a particularly gifted singer, just good enough that it conveyed a basic idea of a song’s essence, so he preferred combining his voice with aninstrument. Maybe he could find a quiet moment when no one was around to record himself on the piano here.
They split up to fetch winter layers and boots. Eric opted for his ski jacket instead of the nicer coat he’d wear on a rare day in London when the temperature dropped below freezing, then he met Adrian on the ground floor. After a quick detour to the breakfast kitchen for nuts and salted pretzels, they laced up their snowshoes in front of the hotel, breath misting in front of their faces.
Snow crunched under their feet once they set off towards the glacier gorge. Trees were cushioned in white, sun bouncing off the fresh snow, unmarked except for the occasional tracks of an animal. The first few minutes, they walked in silence until the gorge began to reveal itself, framed by jagged rocks cloaked in ice.
“Does that happen often?” Adrian asked as they entered the gorge. Towering walls absorbed their footsteps, a hidden river rumbling beneath the ice. “Losing track of time like that when you’re composing, I mean.”
“Just sometimes, when I get into the flow.” It had been a while. Eric had his tricks and routines to induce creativity, from visiting the botanical gardens to sitting by the Thames, but it was easier here with nature at his fingertips.
Adrian tugged down his wool hat so it covered more of his ears. “Do you draw from your own life, or do you make it all up?”
“I think it’s a mix.” Eric glanced at the sheer rock faces above their heads. “I might be inspired by something I’ve seen or felt or heard, but it spirals out from there and takes on a new shape. And sometimes artists I work with send me lines, or there are things they want me to include.”
“So will I become a song?” The question was dipped in humour, Adrian’s smile mischievous. Eric could write a dozen songs about him, but he didn’t see why he’d want to admit as much.
Also, it wasn’t the first time he’d been asked that. Ever since his name had started to spark recognition at industry parties, he’d experienced a few encounters with people who were either angling for his connections to boost their musician career, or for second-hand famein the shape of a song they could point to and say, “That’s me, right there.”
But it didn’t feel like that with Adrian, and not just because he had no idea that at least in some circles, Eric was considered a household name. It simply wasn’t how Adrian was wired—he didn’t have that level of artifice.
“Do you want to become a song?” Eric countered.
Adrian’s eyes turned thoughtful, his face washed in blue by the soft light that bounced off patches of ice. “I think that would be nice, actually.” He adjusted the thick scarf around his neck. “I’m not creative at all, so it’d be fun to at least be … adjacent to it. Somehow.”
“But you are, kind of. A creative, I mean.” Eric paused. “Like, as an actor—even if it’s not conventional acting, right? But you took an idea and brought it to life. It counts.”
Adrian responded with a slight delay, sounding faintly flattered. “I guess? If you put it like that.”
“Yeah.” Eric sent him a smile. “Also, though, I think that creativity is sort of like a muscle, but a lot of people don’t train it.”
“You’ve got self-deprecation down to an art form, don’t you?” The warmth in Adrian’s voice pulled Eric up short.
“I’m not saying talent is irrelevant. I mean, if I start painting every day—doesn’t mean next year I’m Van Gogh. But I think most people underestimate the importance of practice. Raw talent without practice is just potential.”
“And do you consider yourself a talented songwriter as well as one who practises his craft?” Adrian had stopped walking to face Eric, close enough for their snowshoes to knock together.
“I mean…” Eric raised his gloved hands and dropped them again. “I’m just trying to write songs that people will enjoy, you know? I’m not going to revolutionise music as we know it or anything like that. If it resonates, I’m happy.”
“Deliberately evasive,” Adrian chided softly. Before Eric could respond, Adrian swayed closer, tucking an arm around Eric’s waist to bring their bodies together. It was a bit of a shuffle to align theirsnowshoes, cold noses bumping before they got the angle right, and then it was easy and sweet, light brushes of their closed mouths.
They moved on eventually, right up to the point where the gorge widened and allowed for a stunning view of the glacier and mountains beyond. For a few minutes, they stood in comfortable silence.
Eric turned his head. “Thank you for bringing me here.”
“Anytime.” It didn’t sound like a line, just a simple statement as Adrian met Eric’s eyes—because Adrian had nothing to prove, did he? This was his home. He belonged in a way Eric never had, and so it was easy for him to offer others a safe space to rest their minds, some time to breathe. At least for a little while.
They began retracing their steps as the sun began its dip towards the mountain peaks. Night fell quickly here, so by the time they approached the hotel, dusk already wrapped its tendrils around the building, a few windows lit to form bright rectangles.
“You’ve got a beautiful home,” Eric told Adrian as they unlaced their snowshoes in front of the main door. He wasn’t sure if the words conveyed even a fraction of what he was trying to say, but either way, they made Adrian’s face light up with a brilliant smile.
“I do,” he said simply. “There’s nowhere else I’d rather be.”
Eric thought of his London flat and stayed quiet.
The antique lampon Adrian’s bedside table competed with the dim glow of snow and moonlight outside the windows. Initially, they’d kept the light off to enjoy the view from Adrian’s bedroom until Eric had turned his head to look at Adrian, smile almost lost to the shadows. For some reason, it had twisted oddly through Adrian’s chest—not unpleasant, just mildly disorienting for a second there.
They’d moved to the bed after that, losing clothes along the way, nearly tripping over an errant shoe. “Light on?” Eric had asked.
“Safety first,” Adrian had agreed. He’d swallowed Eric’s quiet answering laugh, falling backwards onto the bed as he pulled Eric ontop of him. He’d nearly knocked over the lamp when he blindly fumbled for it.
