#and i need sheet music in front of me to play any wind instruments at all so there's a memory problem there too

[catwithaknife]

i started learning drums today and i can now play every bit of boulevard of broken dreams, but not all together yet. hopefully i'll be able to do it tomorrow

[welcomingdisaster]

??? sentence, yes sunday!!

catching up on my tag games! i was tagged by @searchingforserendipity25 and @thelordofgifs to share something from a wip!

here is me playing around in @polutrope's sandbox. i read their fic, Seen, which is excellent and very funny and deserving of a lot more comments than it has, and got the irresistible urge to play around in that setting (with their permission!). in the fic, maglor has made it to the modern day and is a music school teacher. here is... a whole scene. i have no self control.

It was six-forty-eight and already dark. Outside the wind howled and post-work traffic rumbled as great waves, interrupted occasionally by sudden cacophonies of car horns, dulled by the walls of the little studio into whale-song.  Pinel plucked at her harp, picking away at the last notes of Blue Wizard’s Return. Her eyes were tired and her wrist ached.  “You need to relax your hand,” Mr. Goldsmith said, “close your fingers and thumb into your palm between the notes. It’ll prevent a lot of carpal tunnel down the line.”  He held out his own hand to show her, though she knew. Her eyes caught instead on his fingerless gloves, fine black lace in the shape of pretty flowers and spiky leaves. His long pale fingers were scarred, raised and puckered red along the the fingertips, paper-rough white on the edges of his fingers. That was why he couldn’t play for long, he said.  That and how his hands shook.  “Yeah,” she said, shaking out her hand, “sorry.”  Mr. Goldsmith’s face softened, his faded grey eyes flicking back to her, losing their focus on the craft. He had a funny face, Mr. Goldsmith, all sharp angles, something kinda mean and kinda pretty to him at the same time, though oftentimes it went away when he smiled. Pinel always thought he looked a little bit elfin, though he said he wasn’t. He wouldn’t tell her how old he was, though. When they lived in Minas Tirith her old harp teacher was a college student and she thought he was older than that, though maybe just because didn’t have any zits.  “What are you sorry to me for?” he asked. “They’re your hands.”  She almost said sorry again, but didn’t.  Mr. Goldsmith glanced at his watch and the corner of his mouth twitched downwards, just a little. “Would you like to take it from the top again, kid?”  She didn’t really. “Mom’s gonna be here soon,” she said. Mom was supposed to be here eighteen minutes ago at six-thirty. “And I’m really tired.”  “You can hang out while I clean up, then,” Mr. Goldsmith said, standing, “would you like to sit in my spinny chair?”  She did. She sat in his spinny chair, which also had wheels that slid a little bit too much on the linoleum floors on the studio, and watched as he wiped down the blackboards and took out the trash and vacuumed the front rug. It was six fifty-seven by the time he was done, which meant it only took him nine minutes.  “In three months I’ll be ten and then I can ride the bus on my own,” she said, “to get home.”  Mr. Goldsmith turned on his coffeemaker, which lived on the back counter away from the instruments, and waved her off. “Hot chocolate?”  “Yes please.”  Mr. Goldsmith never turned on the overhead lights of the studio, and now even with the warm yellow lamps it looked dim. She watched him run the hot water through the coffeemaker and mix hot cocoa mix with a plastic straw. Then he popped in a pod of coffee for himself, shifting from foot to foot while it brewed, and dumped another packet of cocoa into that, too.  Then he gave her the cup to hold and sat down on his desk, legs crossed under him. Sheet music fell down on the linoleum floor.  “Mr. Goldsmith?” she asked, “how did you hurt your hands?”   “Oh,” Mr. Goldsmith said, smoothly and easily as though he had expected the question, “fell down in a vat of industrial chemicals. Horrible mess.”  That wasn't true. “Nuh-uh!”  “Uh-huh. They were green and glowed.”  Pinel mulled that over for a bit, trying her drink to see if it was too hot. Okay. “Who pushed you?”  Mr. Goldmith laughed. He had a very musical laugh, like those bells they hung outside of coffee shops for All King’s Day.  “My brother, I suppose,” he said, “if anyone did. He didn’t really mean to.”  For a little bit they sat and drank their drinks and watched the cars outside. Pinel was tired enough she didn’t really want to do anything else, and her cocoa was sweet.  “Were there really chemicals?” she asked.  But the bell on the door rang, and Mom was here. 

gonna tag @polutrope @eilinelsghost @outofangband @starvels @meadowlarkx @jouissants @mirkwood-hr-department @melestasflight & @grey-gazania & anyone else who wants to share something! no pressure either way

[dj-makes-music]

Every musician is on a journey from when we first started to where we are now. I wanna know what songs you guys learned that taught you something new about your instrument(s).

I’m only 17 but heres my journey so far:

1. She sells sanctuary - The cult

I remember asking the band teacher if I could join without any experience on any instrument. It was a makeshift school band and he taught me the bass line for this song. Thanks Mr T

2. I remember you - Skid Row

When I learned all the basic guitar chords well enough my dad taught me the intro even though he hadn’t played in years and didn’t know the names of chords. I used a youtube tutorial to learn this and I even played in front of an audience for the first time. Man that was nerve racking but that really was a confidence booster

3. Smells like teen spirit - Nirvana

Like every guitarist, I learned a Nirvana song cuz it was cool and much easier to learn and play. Funny enough only then did i learn what a power chord was.

4. Fast car - Tracy Chapman

I hit a roadblock where i could play the beginner songs easily but everything else was way above my level. My mum recommended this to me and it was the perfect balance between being challenging but easy to learn. It was also the first finger-style song i learned.

5. Dust in the wind - Kansas

I was on a roll with learning new songs and i wanted to challenge myself by playing the hardest song i could find. Technically dust in the wind isn’t that difficult but using a guitar that was too big for my hands was a challenge. Paired with the first time i’ve even heard of travis picking i felt so accomplished when i mastered the song enough to play it on the back of my head.

6. Sunday morning - Hamzaa

Music A level was both easy and difficult for someone who’s never read sheet music and tone deaf. I remember a student asked me to learn it but without a tutorial i was stumped. I eventually learned up a month later than the deadline. Oops sorry F

7. Escapism - Rebecca Sugar (ft. AJ Michalka Zach Callison & Grace Rolek)

A friend asked me to play it years ago but it was way above my level at the time. I remembered it and decided to learn. The non standard chords mixed with the quick riffs was challenging but really taught me on how small my knowledge was when it came to music. It’s still one of my favourite songs to play.

8. Here comes the sun - The Beatles

I totally forgot about playing pop songs and somehow forgot to learn something Beatles. I’m not sure how but i quickly learned how surprisingly hard this song was. I absolutely hate using a pick so i use my thumb to strum and fingers to pluck.

9. Never going back again - Fleetwood Mac

Again wanted to challenge myself with something that people said was hard. At first it was neon but i never really learned anything passed the main riff and it’s still way above my skills so Fleetwood Mac seemed a better option. This song is surprisingly hard but not just because its fast. The alternating bass line with the chords and descending melody line blew my mind. Sometimes i still mess up.

10. Stop this train - John Mayer

I love John but his “giant thumb” is making me dislocate mine. I really love his songs but its John Mayer so every song is hard. His percussive slap technique is so fun to play and i love how it sounds like a train on a track. I might need to buy a smaller guitar so i can play the G11 clearly.

10/22

[ererokii]

— broken strings and beautiful melodies

diluc r. x f!reader

Word Count: 9.6k Warnings: major character death, mentions of violence, mentions of blood, gore, this does not follow the og plot and lore/ some spoilers for “We Will be Reunited” Archon Quest Note: this is for Attack On Academia’s Mythology Summer Collab! Please be sure to check out the masterlist for everyone else’s works. They all worked super hard and it turned out amazing! And big thanks to @reddriot and @axther for betaing <3

Synopsis: A simple love story between the Pyro Archon, and a mortal.

taglist || masterlist || server link || collab masterlist

Another four days pass and it’s finally Friday. Fridays at Angel’s Share were no different from the ones prior. Exhausted adventurers and townspeople venture inside the tavern to drink their woes away, to forget, or to have a great time. It was annoying, to say the least—hearing the laughter and cheers bouncing off the walls.

However, Diluc had to say nothing was worse than a certain pigtail braided bard strutting in with his lyre. The redhead had no choice but to serve the bard his choice of drinks after figuring out his true identity (although he still makes him pay the whole total—even if the singer can’t find a way to pay). 

Like before, the bartender lifts his head up, crimson eyes boring into the crowd gathering beside the bard at the nearby table. 

The bard’s soft voice matches with the melody of his lyre, fingers pulling and gracefully sliding past the strings. His eyes closed, telling a story to the nearby peers and the quiet man standing behind the counter. A tale Diluc heard once, yet it weighed on him all the same.

“The story of this archon is no better than the rest, yet, the most tragic comes from the debris of war. The god of War was like no other. Loads of strength, yet grief and sorrows weigh him down like an anchor in the vast ocean. Love is a mere factor, yet love is one of the many things the god brought ruin to.”

-

With heavy footsteps, a red-haired male walks along the dirt path in no shoes, wearing the silkiest of robes one could ever obtain. He hums to himself, brushing a loose strand of hair away from his face, letting out a huff of annoyance when it falls right back into the same position as before. 

He breathes in the crisp air of the summer night, relishing the winds that brush across his skin. Summers in Natlan were one of a kind. While it was scorching in the morning, when the night came around, all was calm. The harsh rays turned into blissful winds that cleansed the land of heat. 

During the other seasons, it was never too cold, nor was it ever too hot. The temperature was just right for all men, women and children. 

Located in the southwestern region of Teyvat, Natlan was home to the Pyro Archon, known as The God of War. The god, Murata, is unlike any other god. Ruthless and fierce, he does not handle any threat lightly. Anything thrown his way, he does not hesitate. With kindness and love, Murata will no doubt protect his nation.

His statues are scattered across the land. Standing with his formal rags and cloak that shields his face, Murata holds his claymore in his right hand, the tip pointing down to symbolize his foes beneath him as he celebrates in victory.

In the night sky, his statues act like lights to guide those on safe journeys home or to neighboring nations. Along with being guides, the structures are used for a place of reverence. Often many would journey far and wide to pay thanks for everything he has done. 

In the center lies the biggest of them all, flowers and candles are set up around it for ceremonial purposes. Every night new plants were replaced for the days to come. Like the other Archons, Murata was grateful for his people. When roaming the land, he spots commoners on their knees by the base of the statue during the late of night or the crack of dawn. Not wanting to disturb, the archon watches from afar. 

Today is different. Murata continues to walk along the path, listening to the noises coming from the forest animals and the creeks as the waters begin to rush at this hour of the night. He can’t help but let out the faintest of hums at the sounds of nature. 

He reaches for the side of his face, tucking a red strand behind his ear. Often the god will put his hair up into a low or high ponytail, but for outings in the cool atmosphere, he prefers to wear it down. His powers were compared to his hair many times. When describing his appearance, he listens to the children exaggerate saying his hair is literal flames that he can produce from the palm of his hands. Of course, this is nowhere near true, but a child’s imagination is quite amusing. 

In the distance, his crimson hues bore straight ahead at the small flickering light. 

“Someone must be up now,” he whispers to himself, debating on leaving them alone but instead, chooses to go up ahead and observe from a closer proximity. Muratans knew what their god looked like. He comes out during the day to pay visits but never for long periods of time. 

As quick as they see him, it's as quick as they’ll see him leave. No one can ever hold his attention for too long. 

The sound of strings being played can be heard from his spot-- and he halts. A lyre, one of his favorite pastimes and favorite instruments. 

Over the hill is a figure sitting beside the statue, back turned to him but he can see the movement of their arm. Curious, Murata continues to stalk forward quietly, not wanting to disturb the worshipper. 

The melody played is show-stopping in his eyes. He wonders if Celestia had sent down someone he was unaware of to play this just for him, and only him. If anything, he could settle on the grass and listen to them play for ages on end, wearying his immortal days out. Music was the only thing that could settle him, but not forever. 

Now, he's a mere few steps away from the cloaked figure. His face is lit up by the candles by his feet. His tongue peeks out of his lips as an unknown feeling bursts through his body. His palms felt sweaty and his heart rate increased. 

He winces when the wrong note is played, gritting his teeth together. The redhead doesn’t think much until a force pushes him backward.

“W-Why are you standing there watching me?! Don’t you know this place is meant for us to come together, not to be creepy like you just were right now?!”

“W-What?” he whispers in surprise, bringing a hand to cover his nose that suddenly feels wet. He pulls away, noticing the red drops on his skin. Blood.

“Don’t question me that way! You know exactly what you were doing…  A pig is what you are. Oh, just you wait until Murata finds out about this.”

“Murata huh?” he questions, wiping his hand on the grass, watching the blood dissolve into nothing-- the red trails of blood trickling down his nose come to an unsuspecting halt.

He clears his throat and comes to stand, staring down at the figure behind him. With the candlelight, a glimpse of crimson eyes and matching hair can be seen. In a matter of seconds, it's silent. Until there is a subtle gasp.

It amuses the Archon greatly to see a change in behavior and the fear present in the civilian's eyes. He wouldn’t dare try anything to her, but maybe it would lighten the mood if he did.

With desperate breaths of air, you reach forward and grab ahold of the man's hands, squeezing as hard as you could. “M-My Lord, I deeply apologize for my behavior! Please forgive me! I was foolish!”

“No need to be formal all of a sudden…mistakes are made and all can be forgiven. I must say, you are quite gifted with that instrument in your hand.”

Your face heats up, suddenly finding the ground much more interesting than him as you gaze down. Your god had just complimented you and yet here you are losing the composure you had seconds ago. 

“Thank you,” you whisper, hand clutching the lyre close to your chest. “It’s an honor to hear such wonderful words, especially coming from you.”

Murata stares down, an unexplainable look upon his face. Then, he smiles. 

“Your name?”

“Pardon?”

“What is your name? As someone as gifted as you, I think you deserve to have your name remembered.”

“My name is Y/N. For some reason, your kind words seem to boost my confidence. I normally don’t play in front of people, I’m too shy and afraid of their judgement. I only like to play in front of the statue… or in this case, you.”

“How about you play for me again?”

-

The angelic sounds of your lyre had been played more often since you’ve met the god. The night was when you shined, when no one was around to listen or stare at you. The dark sky made you feel alone, yet you were at peace. You found pleasure in playing for the Pyro Archon statue, yet having him sitting beside you and listening made your heart beat just a bit more than before.

During the day, you find yourself sitting under the big oak trees, the sunlight peeking through the leaves and shining upon you two. Murata lays close to you, eyes shut and lashes resting against his upper cheeks as the song lulls him to a quick nap or a state of serenity. 

He’ll comment on a subtle note, saying how he loves the pitch, or give recommendations. Many times Murata has taken your instrument and played a tune or two for you. He says every gentleman should at least know how to serenade a lady.

As a child, your family spoke highly of him. They even used him as a threat against you when you’ve done something wrong. Now that you look back, it was a mere hoax and it possibly scarred you just a bit. When you first told Murata this, he stared with his lower lip quivering before his shoulders started to shake and then, he let out a laugh. 

“Surely you didn’t believe that, right?”

“I did! I was a child, what else was I supposed to do?! I nearly wet my sheets when my mother told me that you would come and scare me!”

“Well come on now, are you still scared?”

He enjoys seeing you worked up—then again, he loves seeing you play the lyre. He stays quiet and watches your fingers move as if they had a mind of their own. You move with grace, without hesitation. There is no wrong note, no wrong string when you play. Sometimes being here with you in this moment made him feel like he was mortal. Like he was able to live freely.

Being bound to divinity in Celestia, Murata had wandered Teyvat for ages, alone. Each person he had gotten close to, he had to watch them disappear from this world in the shadows. At some point, he even had to pretend to be lost so others could forget about him. If they forgot about Murata, would the load be easier on the Pyro Archon’s shoulder?

But now, you’re aware of his status and who he truly is. If you were to stay by his side, would he be the last thing you see before you pass into the next life? He’s not sure, but he’s hoping that won’t be true. He couldn’t bear with the guilt that will get him worked once more at the thought of another mortal dying in front of his eyes. 

“Murata?” you ask one afternoon, sitting by the same statue you met him for the first time. “What’s it like?”

He steers his gaze away from the clouds and onto you, an eyebrow raised in question. “What is what like?”

“You know—” you start, messing with the material of your dress, head lowered. “Being a god?”

And then he freezes. Out of all the questions you could have possibly asked, this one had to be the most unexpected. 

“Why do you wish to know something like that?”

“I want to know what it’s like. Immortality and eternal beauty sound pretty amazing, doesn’t it?”

“No,” he immediately states, sitting upright. His body looks tense, posture perfect and hands in his lap. However, you notice the small twitch in his fingers, as if he’s thinking. You can hear the heaviness in his breathing—lips parted as the air slips in and out of his mouth.

How can living on this earth for years on end, watching people die in front of you like they are meaningless, be perfect? Is that what people thought about immortality? The faces of past friends from ages ago are nothing but a blob of color in his mind. He can’t remember their faces, nor their voices—only the memories they have shared, and even that is starting to fade away.

Murata cleared his throat, eyes fluttering shut. His chest heaved up slowly, before falling at the same rate. Soon, he opens his eyes and faces you. He reaches up and tightens his high ponytail, running his fingers through the red tresses. “The life of an immortal is not...ideal.”

“There comes a time where living forever is not as good as it seems. A human like yourself might think differently since there is an end to everyone’s journey. Death is inevitable for a human, and almost all are afraid of the end itself. Even… I am afraid there will be a time I will be cursed with that end. But for now, that’s something that rarely crosses my mind..”

And he continues. Murata proceeds to tell you about the drawbacks of being a God. When he speaks, you can see pain flash across his eyes as he recalls a memory of a loving friend who passed before him. He tells you there’s no avoiding this never ending nightmare. If there was a way he could overcome this spell of immortality, he would choose mortal life in an instant. 

He believes nothing good comes with this. In his eyes, everything gets destroyed by his hands. If he hadn’t created this nation, he wouldn’t be here with you, nor would he have people at his feet who love and worship him for everything—for giving them a home. He would be a traveler with no home, or loved ones.

The Archon doesn’t realize how much of his thoughts he spilled until he feels the warmth of another—your hand resting upon his cheek. This alerts him as he jolts, eyes wide as he stares at you. You wear a small smile, head cocked to the side. Your thumb moves on its own, wiping the tear away that dribbles down the swell of his face. 

His body relaxes, shoulders slouching as he relishes your touch, not having been caressed by another, let alone a human. If he’s being honest, it's been at least a century since he has gotten close to another mortal. It’s a foreign feeling, but he loves it nonetheless.

Your soft spoken words are enough for him to be at ease. 

“It’s okay, you don’t have to continue through the suffering.”

In a vulnerable state, the tears continue to flow down his face, arms slithering around your body as he pulls you in close. At first the motion shocks you, but soon you return the action, hand resting on the small of his back and by his head, stroking the soft locks. You can hear the faint sobs that escape his lips and it’s strange. From stories, they state Murata was fierce, barely any emotion in him.

But he looks nothing more than a broken man in need of comfort. 

You press your lips against his head, humming softly to him. His arms tighten around you, a shaky breath slipping past. As much as Murata hates this feeling, but after being alone for as long as Teyvat had been founded, he thinks he deserves to be this close to someone again.

After moments of silence, the god is positioned beside you, hand resting on your thigh and head on your shoulder. His eyes feel heavy, the area feeling irritated and scratchy from his crying. As much as the thoughts still swirl in his head, they seem to be drowned out by the melody you play for him.

He lazily draws organic shapes with the pad of his finger on your skin, eyes beginning to close. 

Your lyre is one of the few beautiful things he has come across in his lifetime. You currently hold the number one spot for the most beauty he has seen but when you sit with your instrument, he swears he can see the wings of an angel behind you. 

He steers his gaze from the lyre to your face, eyes taking in the small details of your visage. A smile tugs at the corner of his lips as he notices the slip of your tongue peek from your lips, eyebrows creasing in concentration. Along with the melodies, he listens to your small hums as you play a song just for him-- one of worship and love.

His hand runs up your arm, halting your movements at once. Eyes opening, you stare forward for a second before looking down upon him. He recognises your confusion and lets out a laugh, hand trailing up before his thumb rests on your chin, making you keep your gaze on him.

Your face heats up at this interaction, mouth parted. Your breathing becomes uneven when you notice the close proximity. Your stomach flutters, the back of your throat suddenly going dry—no words able to slip through. His chest rises and falls just as quick as your own. 

His tongue peeks through, licking his lower lip. His crimson hues stare at your lips before averting his gaze to your eyes. As much as it’s tempting, now is not the right time.

“Beautiful,” he whispers quietly, for your ears only. “So beautiful… like an angel sent down from the divine...”

- The lyre, made of nature’s resources and carved into the most adoring shapes—the ends curving in different directions and a piece of excess wood piercing straight through the middle with a pointed tip and a rounded end. Made for the best, the lyre contains seven strings that seem to glow throughout the day and the night. 

In the middle, an emerald gem shines embedded on the wood, reflecting the rays of the sun, sparkling for all to see. Around lies the detail of the sun, the soft yellows encircling it. And just beneath that is gold details that resemble the wings of those who are free. Two flowers that are foreign to the land of Natlan are delicately engraved—their colors showing pure innocence.

The Cecilia flowers stay in bloom, never once dying out. Nor has any other grown in their place.

A perfect instrument, one of elegance and purity. Perfect for you. 

The origins of said lyre are unknown, yet when it was given to you as a young child, you didn’t dare question it. Instead, you took it with the biggest grin and thanked your father as many times as you could. You were intelligent and extremely talented. At first, your mother was skeptical of such an object being in the possession of an nine year old, but your father assured it was in safe hands. 

Since then, it’s been by your side to this day. It’s never been out of your grasp and you only let certain trusted people play it. For some reason, seeing others hold the instrument made you feel weird. 

Playing your gift made you feel like you were above the world, like you could ascend to Celestia and play for the gods. It felt as if some sort of divine power surged through your veins and riled you up. And now at the ripe age of 24, having the Pyro Archon by your side as you play for him daily, it feels as if your purpose of living has been complete. 

Seeing his soft smile and slight nods he gives when he's impressed (which is all the time) or when he places his hand on yours to play along with you. Having him close to you makes you feel warm, excited and giddy; almost like a young girl in love.

Which... You won’t lie to yourself about that. 

There have been times during the day where you catch yourself thinking about the red head. Thoughts of him swirl your head as you drift off to sleep and he’s the first thing you think about in the morning. Sometimes you notice that you make motions in the air, like you are stroking something, when in reality, you wish to have his head in your lap again as you play with the loose ends of red tresses.

The god was just so breathtaking. Staring into his eyes was mesmerizing. The color of flames held in his eyes drew you in so far, it felt as if you were walking through a pit of flames. Yet, these flames never extinguished or brought harm to you. 

“You’re lost in thought again,” Murata comments, poking your shoulder with his pointer finger. “You alright there? I don’t need you tripping over a rock or something.”

“Huh?” you ask, glancing over at him. “O-Oh it was nothing. I’m okay.” You offer a not so convincing smile, scratching the nape of your neck in embarrassment. Knowing you for a while, the god offers a nod and looks forward, his hands behind his back, steps in sync with yours.

You let your hand drop, clearing your throat as you hum, filling the silence with some noise. Your eyes wander around the area before gazing up at the tall man beside you. You take notice how the ends of his ponytail sway side to side with every step he takes.  

The apple of your cheeks heat up when you can see his back muscles flex as he straightens his posture. The shirt he wore let your imagination run wild; there was no doubt that Murta was built.

“It’s quite rude to stare,” Murata says out of nowhere, barely glancing over at you. “If you want, I can just stand in front of you so you can actually look at me face to face.”

“Oh be quiet,” you mutter, stepping forward and grabbing hold of his hand—his much larger, covering yours entirely. Upon contact, his fingers intertwined with yours, squeezing softly.

“You know I love messing with you,” he hums, pressing a gentle kiss to your temple, which you respond back to him with a quiet “I know.”

The rest of the walk is filled with comfortable silence. It’s a bit chilly in the land of Natlan. One of the many summer days that turn out to be filled with crisp air and cloudy skies. Storytellers always said if it were cloudy during the season of summer, karma and misfortune was on the way—yet no one believed such lies like that. 

His hand is so warm, you think, glancing down at your conjoined hands. Ever since that day by the giant stone statue of the god where you almost kissed him, his behavior towards you changed drastically. He’s been a bit more touchy (not that it bothered you; in fact, you loved it), holding your hand and somewhat more affectionate. At the end of your day when you would say goodbye, he would pull you close and plant a gentle kiss to your cheek or sometimes even close to your lips.

Just thinking about those actions makes you flustered, looking away from him and out to the open. 

“What do you think it means to be in love?”

Hearing those words from the man beside you causes you to choke on your saliva, hitting your chest to calm your ongoing coughs. When you’re finally composed, you gasp for air and stare at him in shock. “W-What do I think about that?”

“Mhm.” He nods, inhaling deeply, his other hand reaching up into the air as if he was stretching before lowering it. “What do you think it means to be in love? I’m curious as to what you humans think it might be.”

“I-” You gulp, eyes semi wide as you try to wrack your brain for anything. That was not a question you were expecting, especially right now. “W-Why do you want to know? Isn’t love, love?”

“Well, aren't there different ones? Can’t people be in love with parts of someone? Lets say, only being in love with someone for their status in the nation. Or just their looks but not for them. 

“Well… I think being in love with someone means you don’t care about their status or who they look or who they are.”

“Even if they’re a god?”

“Even if they’re a god.” you say confidently, before realizing what he said. “I’m sorry, what?”

“Even if they’re a god,” he repeats, stopping in his tracks as he turns to face you. His cheeks are painted with soft pink, red eyes averting from you. 

Murata’s heart is racing, far faster than it ever has in his life. HIs lips are dry, his mouth is parched. His shoulders heave with every deep breath he takes. Does the sweat of his hands bother you? God, he feels like a young boy about to confess his love to a girl he’s been pining over—although he's not completely wrong.

“Murata, what’s wrong?” you ask quietly, tilting yourself a bit to look up into his eyes as his head is lowered. “Are you okay?”

“Why are you so intoxicating?”

“I’m sorry?”

“Y-You’re all I can think of,” he stutters, squeezing his eyes shut. “I can’t get you out of my mind, even though I shouldn’t get close to those I love and care for. In the end, I’ll be here and be forced to live with this overweighting guilt that rests upon my shoulders as time continues to flow knowing that you’ll be dead.”

A hiccup gets caught in the back of his throat, his thoughts becoming foggy all of a sudden. “I don’t like this feeling. I absolutely despise it.  Many times after we hung out, I thought about disappearing again like I have before I got too close to anyone again. But I can’t let you go, nor will these memories ever go away.”

“Don’t you understand?” he whispers, hand shaking as his grip becomes tighter. “I can’t lose you… you’re too special to me already. I know there will be a day where we part ways forever but I want to be a part of your journey until then.”

His confession throws you for a loop. His words continue playing over and over in your head like a song you learned the night prior. You have this unexplainable feeling in your chest, yet it warms up as the seconds pass. Your whole body feels tingly, from the top of your head to the tip of your toes. 

Your quietness is too much for him to handle right now—a bit silly if you were to ask the Archon himself. “Say something,” he mutters, shaking your hand lightly. The redhead can already feel the rejection pooling in the depths of his stomach, eating away at him.

“You... Do you love me?” you whisper, looking up at him with doe like eyes. Murata can’t seem to answer for himself, one hand cupping your cheek. He moves closer, his breath fanning your face. The flames in his eyes gaze into yours, losing himself in the color before he averts down to your lips. A quiet way of asking for consent.

You lean forward, lips barely brushing against his. It’s shy between the two of you. After having such strong feelings for each other, neither of you know how to proceed. No one moves, it feels time has stopped.

You feel him pull away slightly before going back in, his lips fully pressed against yours. His other hand drops yours, instead wrapping his arm around your lower back. Your chest pressed up against his, your finger runs up his side, to the top of his shoulder and around, cradling the back of his neck.

His finger tightens around the material of your coat you wore for the day, using it as leverage to keep you standing. His kisses are soft yet fierce. The softness of his lips and his scent up close are enough to drive you insane, enough to make your knees buckle and make you want more. You want more of him, Murata.

A small grunts leaves his mouth when you tug on his hair. In return, he nibbles on your lower lip, chuckling at the small noise you produce from his motion. It’s becoming harder to breathe as you stay in this position with him. If air wasn’t a necessity, you wouldn’t go for it. 

You pull away from him, panting softly as you gaze up into his eyes. His eyes hold nothing but love and adoration as he peers down at you. The corners of his lips curve upward as he leans in, barely presses against yours again before pulling away. He sneaks in a few quick pecks, listening to your quiet laughter.

“Of course I love you.” He makes you look up at him, your face cradled in his hands as if he was holding something delicate, something that could be wrecked and destroyed any second. “That’s why I asked you what you thought about it.”

“And I love you too,” you reply softly. “I thought.. After everything you wouldn’t want to have feelings like this, let alone a human.”

“Sometimes boundaries are meant to be broken if it means true happiness.”

-

“Tensions have arisen in the land of Natlan. Nearby gods have caused quite the stir, causing Murata to put it to a halt at once. Upon ascending to his seat in Celestia, there have been prophecies saying a great misfortune is underway and can arrive in an instant. Since then, he’s been worked up. He cares much about his nation and will let no harm come its way.” 

The bard strums the string before growing silent, letting his head hang forward, his pigtails falling in his face. “It’s a true shame that such a horrid thing came to be… If only he was strong enough as he said he was.”

Murmurs arise from the drunken peers, hiccups joining the air as they beg him to continue the song. Even if some wouldn’t remember this night in the morning, this was still enough entertainment. 

“W-What happened next, bard?! Finish it!” an adventurer gasps, holding his cup of alcohol close to his chest, his cheeks heated and a light pink.

“You wish to know?” the bard asks, peeking through his lashes, his two toned eyes staring into the soul of the bartender. “Why of course!” he laughs cheerfully then clears his throat, batting his eyelashes as he brings his hand to his chest.

“Although, I’m quite parched and would love to have another cup of Dandelion Wine! What do you say, Master Diluc?”

“My answer is no. Do not ask me for something when you will not pay in the end.”

“Agh what a shame,” the bard sighs, letting his head hang back but never breaking eye contact with the redhead. “Don’t you wish to know about the ending?”

“I could care less.” Diluc speaks through gritted teeth, arms crossed over his chest, the infamous pose he does every hour of the day. “I just want you out of here.”

“I’ll pay for him!” one of the nearby men yell, fumbling with his wallet to grab the gold circles of currency to give to the bartender—and all the bard can do is smile cheekily, opening his hand. 

“Well, looks like the drink is paid for. Can I have it now, Master Diluc?”

The red head, already annoyed with the behavior of the young man in front of him, reluctantly takes the coins from the drunk. Without speaking, he serves the singer his desired drink, noticing the small smirk he wears. “Why are you smiling at me like that?” he asks, eyeing him up and down.

“Because I’m getting to my favorite part.” He takes a sip of his drink and places the cup back down. After a pleasant sigh is heard from him as he takes hold on his lyre, stroking the white petals of the Cecilia flowers. “And you’re gonna love it.”

- Melodies of the lyre were played even during the darkest of times. The soft notes were enough to make anyone who felt down happy again, or at least content, even yourself. The colors of the strings being played was enough to put you at ease. Sometimes when you’re out in the town, many children would ask you to play their favorite song or at least a simplified version if you weren’t familiar with it. 

But as of now, all of Teyvat was in ruin. Murata had told you the truth; he hated keeping you in the dark when you deserved to know. As much as he disliked saying this, your life indeed was on the line, more than his. In fact, the whole nation was at risk, along with the other six neighboring ones. 

From other Archons, Murata heard that a water monster, Osial, had arisen and was ready to ruin and kill innocents for the sake of a seat in Celestia. Morax, who was the overseer of Liyue at the time, was trying his best to seal the beast with his spears.

In this case, Murata hopes a threat like this doesn't happen to Natlan. Especially when he’s not there to protect his people, to protect you.

Murata hears a gush of wind from behind him and the earth beneath him starts shaking. He wipes the sweat from his forehead with the back of his hand, small puffs of air slipping out of his mouth. He reaches above and tugs on the black hood of his cape. 

His archon outfit consists of silk white pants and black sleeveless shirt that resembled a vest with a slit down the middle of his torso. And to top it, a black cape flows behind, the hood covering his face from all to see. In his right hand, his fingers curl around the handle of his claymore.

A heavy burden rests upon his shoulders as he stares forward, seeing the world erupt into flames and utmost chaos. In the distance, he can hear the screams and cries of the families asking for mercy. He wonders what you would think about him if you were to see him right now. 

“Murata,” you whine, trailing the last syllable of his name as his lips peck against the bare skin of your shoulder. “Come on, you know that tickles.”

“Yeah? Maybe I’ll continue to do it,” he muses, nipping at your skin before blowing warm air onto your neck which causes you to squirm from him, pressing your hands against his chest. He listens to your soft laughs, loving the way your body moves under his touch. Your arms wrap around his neck, hugging him close as you hum, inhaling the scent you’ve grown to love. 

“Mmm… I love you.”

“And I love you too,” Murata whispers to no one, blinking rapidly when he realizes he was lost in thought and was not in fact with you, but only remembering a moment from a few days ago. In reality, here he stands in the middle of a deserted land that must be destroyed. Blood is on his hands, splattered on his face. 

“I didn’t even want to do this,” he mutters, grinding his teeth together as he proceeds to walk forward, watching red explosions burst from the ground, red blocks protruding from either ends of the nation. In the sky, the color purple takes over as lightning strikes down from the heavens and is brought forth onto the land. 

From his position, the ground had been cracked and was on the edge of being split apart if another Archon had used their powers against the nation. 

He lifts his claymore in the air, staring up at the red sky with anguish. His lips part as he whispers something to himself, reassuring that what he is about to do is alright and isn’t his fault. A sudden strike of his weapon pierces the land, flames bursting into the air and cracking the earth. 

Murata breathes heavily, leaning on the rounded edge of his weapon. Sweat trickles down his face, the hood falling off of his head. Two strands of hair fall forward, framing his face, the rest of it tied back into a low ponytail. 

The flames continue to run down the cracks which branch to smaller ones that cause the piece of rock beneath the surface to crumble and fall, leaving the terrain to become uneven. 

“Wow! Even from afar I can spot you,” a semi high pitched says from behind him. The Pyro Archon stiffens, internally groaning as he stares over his shoulder, meeting two green eyes. “Someone doesn’t look happy as he used to be.”

“Barbatos,” Murata grumbles, looking forward as he straightens his posture. With one hand, he picks his hood over his head once more and the other pulls his claymore from the ground, resting it on his shoulder. “What do you want from me now?”

“Just letting you know Morax has finished in the south region of Khaenri'ah,” Barabtos states, a frown growing on his lips as he looks away, the tips of his toes barely touching the ground as his wings keep him afloat. “You're not the only one who didn’t want this. We had no choice.”

“No choice huh…” He trails off, his claymore suddenly evaporating into thin air and gold dust left in its wake. “How are we loving, protecting gods if we just obliterated this nation with no god? What does that make us? We’re no better than those who do us wrong against our own homeland. We’re just like Decarabian. Nothing but tyrants.”

“Don’t bring up that name again.”

“Why? Because deep down you know it's true.”

“Because that was his own choice to keep us entrapped. We had no choice but to bring ruin. They felt-” Barbatos hesitates, licking his lower lip before continuing, “-they felt threatened. A nation with no god is a false one to Celestia. Everything must be in order. Khaenri’ah was not the case. We had to, or we’re next. The divine is not ready for a land with no god.”

“I shouldn’t have come.”

“Murata. If you hadn’t, who knows what would have happened to Natlan.” A deeper voice from behind him is heard, the sound of footsteps becoming louder before they stop beside him. “You and your people would have been in grave danger.”

“Unlike you, I don’t need to keep making contracts.”

Morax chuckles lightly, shaking his head, his ponytail swaying with the movement. “And how does that look on you, God of War?”

Murata shakes his head, refusing to look at the Anemo Archon and the Geo Archon. “War or not, this is not just. The victors burn bright and the losers turn to ash. This-” he motions to the now deserted land of dust and blood. The sky is a deep red, the sun or moon nowhere to be seen. The earth is uneven, mountains caving into the ground as streaks of dark colors emit from the ground. 

The spot the three archons stand upon is nothing but cracked ground, an empty space separating them and the rest of the debris. 

“This is not war.”

Even when he’s not in his right mind, the only thing that can put him to ease comes up, suddenly soothing his woes away. He closes his eyes, envisioning he’s somewhere else

“You’re so pretty,” you whisper in the god’s ear, twirling a strand of hair around your finger with a smile. “No wonder you’re a god. How could they not take you?”

“Please. You flatter me too much.” He grabs hold of your wrist, bringing it to his face, planting a kiss to it. “On the contrary, it should be you in my position. No, an angel is what you are.”

“An angel? Please, enlighten me.”

Murata shifts on his side to stare down at you, brushing the baby hairs from your face. A blanket covers your bodies from your previous intimate sessions, yet he remembers every curve, every flaw that’s perfection to his mind. “I mean, look at you. You’re too beautiful for this world.”

“Am I now?”

He nods, dipping his head slightly. The tip of his nose brushing against yours. “You are. You’re amazing. You’re everything in this world. You’re desirable but most importantly... you’re divine.”

“Wow, now I’m flattered.”

He smiles, the corners of his eyes creasing as he presses his lips against yours in a soft kiss. It lasts for a few seconds but it feels as if it goes on for years. When he pulls away, you cup his cheek. “And you are ethereal.”

The god shakes his head lightly with a sigh, rubbing his eyes with the back of his hand. You’re all he can think about. Even when he is busy taking away innocent lives and watching them get turned into monsters, the sweet image of your face continues to pop into his mind. You’re the light in the dark. 

He hates the feeling of being away from you, especially when he’s on close watch from Celestia. There’s something unsettling in the pit of his stomach that he can't quite put his finger on it. Murata watches Morax and Barbatos exchange a few words before he gasps, lifting his head up fast. “Natlan. It’s in danger.”

- The nation of Natlan, located in the southwestern region of Teyvat and home to the Pyro Archon, was under attack. There was no point in trying to save them, they were already too far gone. No god in sight yet the trails of monsters were left behind. Did the Archon truly love them like they said he did? Or was it all a lie to get people’s love?

The once beautiful land is ruined—looking like the one he destroyed not long ago. His statues that aided his people on their journeys far and wide were now broken and cracked. Chunks of stone litter the ground and crush nearby civilians. Whoever was standing beside those statues had been brought down along with them, no way to return. 

The god feels weak in the knees as he staggers over the dirt path that has noticeable traces of dried blood. No doubt from his people. Where are the bodies? He has no clue.

Houses have been torn apart, the roofs blown off and thrown into the field of flowers on the other side. He feels torn at heart. He wants to give up walking, already knowing the outcome but refuses to stop. He hopes that a few people, even just twenty people, can still be alive and he can move them somewhere else.

The night is cold and fresh as it was years ago. Only this time, the sounds of the animals in the creek aren’t heard and the wildlife is quiet. He looks towards the forest, hoping a deer or a boar will rush through the trees. But his hopes die when he notices that's not happening, and the habitat is burnt to ashes. 

“Somebody,” he croaks out, averting his eyes upward and freezes. Up ahead, in the center lies the biggest statue of them all, where flowers and candles are set up around it for ceremonial purposes. Every night new plants were replaced for the days to come. 

The most beautiful statue in all of Natlan has been crushed. The head of the statue is gone from the area (he can only assume it had been tossed across the nation or into the river). The candles are no longer intact,  the pieces scattered and buried into the burnt grass.

“No,” he whispers lowly before crying out, running towards it. His heart races as he steps closer and closer. All his worries and fears; he doesn’t want them to be real. He doesn’t want any of this to be real. He wants to be at home.

You.

You. 

Where are you?

He gasps for air and drops to his knees. Red eyes frantically search along the stone pieces. He plants his hands on the ground and hisses upon contact, retracting back. A rock share pierced his skin. Murata bites his lower lip as he shakes his hand, watching the piece fly off before he can continue looking.

Are you safe at home? You were, right? Surely you wouldn't come out when everything is being attacked, right? Yeah, that’s it. You’re safe at home waiting for him to return. Waiting for him to be in your arms so you can cry about your fears of losing your life and him.

And by the end he’ll calm you down, say soothing words into your ear as he holds you close, saying he’ll never leave like that again and stay with you forever. God or not, immortal or not, he plans to stay by your side. 

And then your lyre will be played for you and only you. He knows your favorite melodies. Oh so beautiful, he loves hearing you play them but this time, he’ll play for you until the end of time. 

Your lyre-

He freezes.

His hand hits something underneath the stone. Something smooth like wood and the prick of an object with a pointed tip—an all too familiar feeling.

With a grunt, he grabs ahold and heaves back, pulling it out from under the rubble. A surge of fear flows through his veins when he falls back, holding an object in his hands. 

It’s a cracked lyre, with pieces broken off where an emerald stone originally would have laid. The gold trinkets are ripped right off, the empty space now feeling dull. He notices the seven strings have now turned to three and aren’t holding their original color that glows. 

The only thing that’s untouched, however, are the Cecilia flowers. Not a hint of blood stains the white petals. 

His eyes grow wide when he gazes somewhere else, spotting a hand peeking out from the same spot he pulled the lyre from. A choked cry gets stuck in the back of his throat when it all clicks together.

You weren’t home like he thought you would have been. You weren’t waiting for him to return from his wages of war, to be in his arms. Instead, you did what you always did.

Worshipped Murata, under the ceremonial statue.

The one that caused your death. 

Tears well up in his eyes as he hugs the lyre close to his chest, mouth parting as a sob slips out. He rocks himself back and forth, shaking his head at this false reality but he knows this is all real. 

Murata babbles to himself, muttering things underneath his breath as he hyperventilates. He can’t catch his breath. His throat is closing in on him, the air too thick to even breathe right now. 

The tears blur his vision. He can’t see nor think straight anymore. The god of War was unable to save his people from the hardships of an incoming war. What kind of god was he? Was he even one? Or was he now a false one?

What seems to be years later, though it only is an hour or so, Murata finds himself standing on the edge of a cliff, dried up tears evident on his face. The whites of his eyes are red, the tip of his nose matching the same color. 

He sniffles, nose stuffed from the moments earlier. His breathing hasn’t changed a bit. His shoulders still shake with every inhale. The atmosphere around him is tense, maybe even too quiet for his liking. 

Behind him, he refuses to look back on the destruction he let happen. Even from a far enough distance, he can still clearly hear the crackling of fire and the sounds of a nation dying. 

He lowers his hand from his chest, spreading his fingers open. In a matter of seconds, the handle of his weapon appears slowly, the rest of the claymore following suit in gold dust. 

He peers down slightly, watching the red and black glow before dimming out. The slant from the edge of the weapon, one he has used to kill off his enemies without a thought. In the current state, he can see the traces of blood left behind. 

In his other hand is the damaged lyre. His fingers keep it close to his chest, his heart. One of the last things he had of you. The tip of his pointer fingers strums a string and he winces from the uneasy sound it produces. This instrument no longer plays the melodies he adored, and worse yet, the person he adores can no longer hear it. 

Murata was the Pyro Archon. Amongst the other gods, he was ruthless yet kind and merciful. When a threat was sent his way, he did not hesitate to take care of it. He took care of Natlan. 

Or, that’s what should have happened. 

He closes his eyes, goosebumps forming on his arms from the gust of wind that breezes by him, knocking his hood off. His hair that was let down swayed in the breeze, the loose ends flowing behind him. His bangs move slightly and then stop, falling in their original place. 

The rest of his cape follows in the wind, the ends flowing behind him like the draft was made just for him right now. 

“I let you down,” he says, clearing his throat. He stares at the colors of oranges, pinks and blues, meshed together to create the sunrise that he grew to love but now, he suddenly resents it. 

A single tear cascades down his face and lands on his bare chest. “I’m sorry,” he whispers, squeezing his eyes shut. A rare whimper slips past his lips. With a shake of his head, Murata brings the lyre to his face, pressing his lips against the cracked wood. 

A goodbye kiss should always be special, shouldn’t it?

He pulls away, stroking the place where the gem would have been at. “I’m so sorry my love.” He averts his gaze and lowers himself, dropping the lyre on the ground underneath his feet. 

“Even I could not save you from the end of your journey. And as your god, I failed to protect you.”

When he stands up straight, his fingers tighten around his claymore. He stares down at the instrument, longing for time to change and to go back. To go back to how things were before. 

He can still hear the sound of your life and your smile popping into his mind. At the thought, his lips curl upward faintly in a small smile. 

Oh how he misses you already. He still remembers when he first saw you on that day under the statue as you played for him. You were aggressive, that was for sure. No doubt about it when you swung at him with your lyre and accused him of being a disgusting pig.

He can only blame himself. Deep down, he knew a day like this would come, but he didn’t think it would happen so soon. 

But maybe now, as he called you his angel or an angel of Celestia, you can now ascend to where you truly belong. 

This isn’t goodbye, but a farewell, he thinks, clearing his throat as he gets closer to the edge. He peers downward at the ground miles beneath him.

As he failed here, he still has a job to do, no matter what. 

So then he jumps. He brings his claymore around and over his shoulder and swings it down. Flames engulf him in whole on his way down until he hits the ground with a thud, his weapon taking up all the impact. 

-

“And thus, the Pyro Archon aided in other nations against the treacherous demons that corrupted their land. After such heroic deeds, he was never to be seen. Many questioned: where did the god of War go? Who will remain victorious?”

“Many say he disappeared to join his love in the next life. Others say he stepped down as god to live amongst the mortals as he always wanted.” The bard hums and lays his lyre across his lap. 

“It’s a shame really, how beauty can go to waste.” His fingers run over an emerald gem that lies in the middle of the wood. His lyre was beautiful. 

The edges curved in different directions with a piece of wood piercing the top with a rounded end and pointed tip. Seven strings glowed recently as he placed the object to rest. 

“But it’s not as if it was her fault.” His slender fingers run over the white petals with a faux sigh of despair. “She would have been popular amongst the folks here, if she was immortal, of course. If only he kept his word to her saying he would protect her no matter what.”

The bartender drowns out the rest of Venti’s words, his eyes trained on the wood beneath his feet. 

Diluc Ragnvindr, owner of the Dawn Winery and Angel’s Share. Information is at his fingertips wherever he goes. In Mondstadt, he is a nobleman of high status. Everyone knows about him. 

His crimson eyes hold tears as he lets out a shaky breath, bringing a gloved hand to wipe away at the water that threatens to spill. 

He tries to keep his mind off of it but he can’t suppress it.

In front of him was Lord Barbatos himself—one he knew too well from millennia ago. Having fought with him in the Archon War, and the Destruction of Khaenri’ah, Diluc knew there was no way to get rid of him. 

It shocked him the most that the bard even remembers the story from back then. Even if other storytellers told this tale, Venti was the one that pierced his heart the most. 

“Master Diluc!” At the sound of his name, the red head hesitantly lifts up his head. Venti’s annoying smile greets him, pressing his finger against his cheek in a thinking motion. 

“Did you like it? I hope you did! I try to incorporate any stories of the divine. It seems that today was a hit. Don’t you think so?”

“Why are you bringing it up?” he whispers, not caring that tears trail down his face. “Why do you need to remind me of my failure?”

The other peers don’t seem to notice the usual calm and collective man in tears. They’re all too far gone in the hole of alcohol. 

Venti’s eyebrows crease, cocking his head to the side. “Failures? What do you mean? I’m just doing my job and singing like I always do. You’re doing great things in the Wine Industry. What failure could you possibly mean?”

“You know exactly what I mean!” Diluc snaps, slamming his hands on the counter in front of him, causing the bard to jump in his seat. “You know exactly what you’re doing!”

“Oh dear oh dear,” Venti sighs, shaking his head. He picks up his lyre, placing his lips against the wood. 

“So pretty huh?” he asks once he pulls away, a small smirk on his lips as he shows Diluc. “Wouldn’t it be amazing if you got to play this?”

The strings continue to shine, dimming and going bright again. An instrument perfect for anyone and in this case, for Barbatos. 

It pains Diluc to see him with your lyre. As much as you told him you despised other people holding it, he feels much more stronger about it. He wants nothing more than to snatch it from Venti’s hands and tell him to get out. 

“Others say that he wanders in the world right about now. No one knows what he looks like though. It’s a shame if anyone were to find him and blame him.” 

Venti’s fingers run over the strings. A melody is heard in the air, louder than any of the drunk men in the room. 

Diluc feels a sob beginning to form in the back of his throat. He wants nothing of this. He wants to truly go back home to Natlan with you. He could have made you a god and you could have been here with him today. 

As much as Diluc wants to look away, he’s mesmerized by the way the singer’s fingers move gracefully against the strings. For a split second, he could have swore he saw you sitting in his place, singing softly for his ears only. 

Like the angel you were. 

“But it seems that the god is afraid of confrontation. And yet, he seems to be mourning over his lover even after her death. If anyone were to be at fault, it would be his—” 

Venti stops, peering up at Diluc through his lashes. A sinister look was evident in his eyes. He paused for dramatic effect, a smirk growing on his lips. He hums and strums the last note.

“Isn’t that right, Murata?” Venti muses, asking a question in the form of a song. But in reality, he aimed it towards the redhead god standing in front of him. 

Diluc stares dumbfounded, mouth parted and eyes red from his silent crying. His hands are balled beside him. The peers cheer for the bard and offer drinks to compensate for his amazing singing—to which he laughs it off but takes the offers regardless. 

And all Murata can do is live with his own guilt, for the rest of his immortal life. Forever.

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[be-ready-when-i-say-go]

Inspired partially by the twitter trend of The Face Vs. The Face Sitting On It and just in time for Valentine’s Day! 

Gender Neutral Reader Insert. 

Enjoy my masterlist!

Support me on KoFi!

__________________________

While sitting in the car, you watch out the window. Folks buzz around you--some folks looking content, strolling about their day. Others are flitting around, a bit of crease in their forehead. And you feel for them. You know those days where there’s just not enough hours in the day to get it all done. Or it’s when one thing sets off a spiral of all terrible things. Or when you just don’t wake up on the right side of the bed. You know that crease all too well because currently you were having a bad sleeping week. 

You were getting tired when you were supposed to but the second you put your head on the pillow your brain was hot wired--keeping you up with all the things you needed to do, hadn’t done, all the appointments you had kept pushing off. It was finding the littlest things to find that anxiety and keep you staring up at the ceiling. Calum noticed the tossing and turning and tried his best to lull you to sleep this week, fixing you tea in the evening, getting you off your phone or laptop a couple hours before bed. He even started reading to you, but your ears picked up on the white noise of everything in the house. Your brain picked up the embarrassing memory that you hadn’t even considered in decades and now holding it in front of your mind’s eye for hours on end during the week. 

Like right now, you should’ve been at home sleeping. Your work was giving you a long weekend and you really could’ve used the time to catch some extra Z’s, but you were, admittedly, a little scared to stay home. Sure maybe you did fall asleep cuddled up next to Duke. But you worried that you’d stay up, worry yourself sick some more so when Calum told you he had some errands to run you immediately tagged along. The time running around would hopefully tire you out enough that when you got home you could actually fall asleep. 

So after Calum’s personal training session in the morning, which you sort of tagged along for, but mostly went through your own routine and getting a solid breakfast, you two were now buzzing around from store to store. Calum had gotten most of the grocery the other day, but he forgot a couple things so your first objective was to grab those and bring them back up. He then had to go to the post office to mail out his mother’s birthday cards and a few other things. 

While in the line at the post office, your head tucked into his back, Calum got a phone call from a guitar shop on the other side of time about a new model that had just come in. Calum had been eying it for ages, but he didn’t want to be reckless with his money especially after getting some work on his teeth and to the house. So he asked the guitar shop to keep an eye out for when more stock arrived in case it sold out before Calum felt comfortable spending a large sum of money like that again. 

The store agreed to set one off to the side for him and could keep it on hold until the end of the day. Which was perfect--still gave the two of you time to get lunch. You didn’t need to get anything, didn’t need to do anything. But even after lunch, Calum made one more pit stop. Here now at the gas station, you sit peering through the windshield and can see a mother with her two sons walking from the doors. They boys hold brightly colored icees in their hand, each clutching a bag field with goodies. 

You aren’t entirely sure whey Calum needed to stop here for anything. It’s not like he needed stamps, since he got those at the post office. He hadn’t pulled in to get gas. Lunch had been filling, though you tried not to stuff yourself too much just because you knew that on a long car ride, the last thing you wanted to do was be uncomfortably full. 

The door opens again, Calum strutting through with his glasses covering his eyes and resting comfortably atop the chubby cheeks. Barely hanging from the crook of his fingers is a brown plastic bag. The doors click open and he climbs into the driver seat. The guitar shop wasn’t that far, but today seemed to be a busy day on the road. Took you all too long just to get to the grocery store this morning. 

“Snacks?”

“Was craving something sweet after lunch.” 

You peer into the bag as he hands it over to you. Some gummy bears, gum, a bar or two of chocolate you can’t quite tell. You set it onto the floor at your feet. “Let me know when you want something.” But he’s already tearing into a Twix bar when you glance at him. “Or not,” you laugh. 

“The other stuff is for you--if you want to indulge. Can’t forget ya,” he pushes the glasses down for just a moment to wink at you and then looks into the rearview mirror. 

“Do you think you’re going to get this one?” you asks as the SUV rolls out from the parking lot and onto the asphalt of the highway. 

“Hmm, maybe. Gotta see how it feels first.”

You nod at his question, resting your head into the cushion of the seat. And it goes quiet for a while. The radio plays softly in the background, and every so often the packaging crinkles as Calum downs more of the chocolate and caramel treat. 

“Valentine’s Day is coming up soon,” Calum states, while paused in a bit of traffic. “Got any ideas on what you want to do for it?”

You think for a moment. Valentine’s Day has never been your thing--being perpetually single does that to a person. “Restaurants are going to be a nightmare.”

“Yeah, they will be.” Another crinkle comes from the right side of the car and then his arm reaches behind your seat, finding the small bag of trash you stash there--though you have to be careful when Duke sits in the backseat. Generally though, he doesn’t mess with too much. “My mom sent me a recipe of hers. It’s really good.”

“I’d be down for cooking.”

“Nothing else? Don’t wanna go sky diving? Give me another heart attack?”

You laugh thinking about the first birthday you spent with Calum together as a couple. “You didn’t die.”

“But I did almost shit myself.”

“You can play on stage to thousands of people, but no, jumping from a plane is a no-go.”

“Yes, because I am a sane human.”

You huff out a small tuft of laughter and turn to look at him. One hand on the wheel with the stainless steel linked chain dangling from his wrist. His other arm is resting against the door, gently tapping out a beat with his long slender fingers. “Do you want to do anything?”

“Valentine’s Day,” he scoffs. “How long have we been dating? When have I ever been dying to do anything on some random day in February.” His statement doesn’t fall venomously from his mouth. He even looks over to you with a smile. “I don’t need one day out of 365 to declare my love for someone.”

And it’s true. While Calum wasn’t super accepting of love from new people, while it took you months to show Calum that you were trustworthy and not someone to keep at an arm’s length, once he cracked open, he oozed adoration and love for people. And you knew it was a defense mechanism. You knew that when someone did care as hard as Calum did it wouldn’t always be an easy thing to win over. 

Calum, when he finally let someone one, loved hard. It could be a random Tuesday in July or a Sunday in February, and he would make sure his love was known. He never needed a special occasion to send flowers, to cook dinner, to offer to drive you to doctors appointments because he knew that sometimes you got too nervous or flustered by them to drive but did manage to push through if absolutely necessary. He’d easily pick up some gloves and an extra sponge if he saw you wiping down the walls in the kitchen or wiping through the counter. He kept fridge cleaning days marked on the calendar. And when you added reminders to wash bed sheets to the shared one, he also include rest breaks for you too. 

Calum had never needed someone to force him to show appreciation. 

“I mean, there is the option to literally do nothing on Valentine’s Day. Like treat it as any other day.”

“That’s still something,” he countered, turning on his signal and switching out from the middle lane. His exit was approaching in another mile and a half. 

“Oh fuck off,” you laugh. “We can’t cease to exist that day. Bare minimum we need to convert oxygen into carbon dioxide.”

Calum laughs softly, showing some of his teeth too. “Fair, fair. There’s another Netflix documentary coming out, true crime one. I forget what it’s fully about, but I think it’s about a serial killer if you’d be down to start it then?”

“When would I ever turn down the opportunity to be a detective with you?”

“You haven’t yet,” he states with laughter in his voice. 

“And I never will.” The ramp takes the two of you down and down and soon you’re winding through streets and not too far you can see the shopping center coming into view. He pulls into the lot of the shop and the two of you step out in unison. 

The bell above the door chimes as he opens it for you and you smile often in your thanks. “Hey, Calum!” one of the guys at the register calls out. The store is fairly empty. But you’re not shocked on a Tuesday afternoon. 

“Hey, Derek. How’s it going?” Calum heads directly over to the counter and you look up to the left wall, at the records on display.

“Let me know if you need anything,” the second guy states to you, “or if you want to see anything.” He’s younger than Derek, both look to be equally tattooed from the pieces that peek out from the short sleeve work shirts, but his face is significantly brighter. 

“Thanks,” you return and go back to the displays. You can hear Calum and Derek chatting but slowly tune it out, make it background noise to the music playing through the speakers. 

You turn to walk towards the back where more instruments sit and you can see Calum leaning into the glass display of the counter. The palms of his hand pressed into the metal edge. The sunglasses sit on top of his head and you notice the younger guy glancing over at you again.

He nods again and then goes back to his computer. Nothing else is said. And you look over the stringed instruments, ukuleles, some violins and then you spin around again, done with that lap and go to head up to Calum. “See anything?” he asks. 

You shake your head. “You’re the musically talented one. I just nod and smile when you talk about it.”

Derek returns, a case in hand. He comes out from the hinged doors that separate the sales floor from the registers and back of the store. You scoot a little closer to the display as the case is transferred over. Calum takes it easily heading to the corner you just abandoned to sit and check out the instrument. It’s a beautiful deep green, almost reminds you of the thick Washington forest. The body is slender. 

“That’s a pretty cool color,” you note, watching Calum work his fingers over the frets. 

He grins up at you. “Think so?” You give another nod. He doesn’t inspect it long before you can see the desire to give in crosses his face. 

Derek’s standing close by and you turn to him and keep your voice as close to a whisper as you can while still being heard. “What’s a bass like that cost?”

He rattles off the price, one eyebrow slightly raised over the other. You know Calum will riot--he’ll pitch a fucking fit. But you reach into your wallet and slide out your card. You had been saving--for a year. You wanted to do something big for Calum. You just didn’t know what it was yet specifically though you had some ideas, a bass was top of the list.  But you didn’t want to try and go out and buy a bass without consulting him, without getting an understanding of what he liked. You thought about maybe a really good leather jacket and some more boots. He loved the ones he had, wore them as much as he could. 

And when you mentioned possibly getting him more, he told you the ones he had were still in good shape. Calum wasn’t the type to just buy clothes to buy them. He indulged here and there, but always made a point to wear something he had down before replacing it. You’d tease the subject a couple more times after that, but he never took the bait and you weren’t going to force him into a thing he didn’t want or need. 

But it’s clear to you that this is something he wants. But he’ll tussle with himself and never give in on it. It’s pricer than you thought it would be. But you too were being smart, having finally paid off the last of your car, you start moving those payments to savings and it helped a great deal. You were fine. You get insurance and the whole deal as Derek advises. By the time you slide the receipt back across the counter, Calum comes back to the registers. “I appreciate you holding it for me, man. But I don’t think I can right now.”

Derek looks at you and you look down into the glass. “It’s--it’s yours, dude.”

“What?” Calum breathes behind you. 

“They-uh, they paid for it,” Derek says, nodding at you.

You can feel the heat in your body now and spin around to face Calum in a rush. “Consider it a not Valentine’s Day gift.”

“What? What are you talking about?”

“Ever since I finished paying off my car, I saved the payments to do something nice for you. Didn’t know what it was going to be for sure. But I know you, Calum. You’d want something and tell yourself no. I mean you can treat yourself sometimes.”

“You-you didn’t?” His eyes are rapidly blinking, head shaking like he doesn’t want to believe you. Like he can’t believe you as his mouth mumbles out, “No,” repeatedly. 

“It’s yours,” you nod. “It’s really yours.”

If it weren’t for the weight of the bass, you’re sure Calum would’ve tipped over, maybe even rushed to Derek to hand the case back over, but instead he’s weighed down, chained to this spot in the blue speckled carpet of the store, still repeating, “No,” softly. 

“‘I hate to break it to you, but you’re gonna have to find space in your office for it now. Because I refuse to return it.” You step forward, find the handle and slip your hands around it taking it from Calum. A small grunt leaves you and then you start to the door, throwing a thanks to Derek. 

The lights to the SUV blink and you can hear the locks clicking open as you push open the door to the store. “Wait--what are you doing?” Calum asks. 

“Open the trunk please,” you ask. 

“Let me do it,” he demands, stepping in close to take the case with the bass now. “What the fuck did you do? Baby, this is expensive.”

“It’s not a Valentine’s Day gift,” you answer again. “Because I love you. On a random Tuesday.”

He gets the instrument safely into the trunk and then closes it, watching dumbly as you climb into the passenger side. He walks to the driver seat and climbs in, taking you gently by the chin. “That was absolutely reckless and unnecessary-- ”

“I am just absolutely reckless and unnecessary then,” you counter, “because I’m not returning it.”

“--but thank you. Thank you so much,” he continues as if you hadn’t interrupted him. “I love you.”

“I love you.” Then it’s silent, as the two of your gaze at each other, watching what could almost be tears well in his eyes, but they don’t fall. 

“I don’t know what I did to deserve a person like you, but whatever it was, I’m glad I did it.”

“I’m glad you did it too.” The two of you return home, Duke rushing to the front door as the two of you step through it. Calum safely places the bass in his music room/office and returns shortly after to help you decide on what to order for dinner. 

As the two of you settle onto the couch, Calum takes your hand and presses a kiss to teach knuckle. “I’m gonna teach you how to play.”

“You know we’ve done this before.”

“And you were good at it.”

“I was alright at it.”

“It’ll be your bass,” he whispers. 

“I bought it for you,” you return tossing your head back to look at him. 

He kisses your lips. “Yeah, but it’ll be the one that I teach you to play for real one and it’ll be yours--just as much as it is mine.”

“A true sap,” you laugh, but nod and return your focus back to the TV. 

In the week that follows, Calum makes sure to take an hour in the evenings to set you down and pick up on the lessons. They fizzled out as work for the both of you picked up. But now things are a bit more calm. He sits next to you, assessing what you remember from last time and correcting finger placements as needed, but they go smoothly. 

When Valentine’s Day does come, Calum pulls you back into bed for just five more minutes of sleep. And five minutes turns into half an hour. But finally you two pull yourself out from the sheets, figure out what to do in the midmorning that results in food being consumed and then you slowly gravitate towards different sections of the house. 

There’s still a bit of laundry to be done and Calum takes Duke out for just a little bit. The two of you migrate back together by mid afternoon. He finds you making a quick lunch and presses a kiss to your cheek. You turn to face him, squeezing at his. “I bought some face masks,” he offers. “Care to join me in doing the bare minimum of converting oxygen into carbon dioxide after your lunch?”

“Don’t see how I could pass up such a wonderful offer? You want anything?” He shakes head, mentioning grubbing on some of the leftovers earlier while you took a nap. 

With your lunch done and the plates cleaned, you find Calum in the bedroom and let him know you’re ready for the face masks. He shuffles to the bathroom. “I hope I got the right one for you,” he mutters. “I got them forever ago it feels, so who the hell knows what I got.” His laughter is soft as he rummages through the bins under the skin. 

“I’ll be in the office,” you tell him and he nods, still pulling bins out. You settle into the couch and spy the green bass still on the stand from yesterday. You pull it into your lap and sling your arm over it. The amp next to you is off, you know but you still pluck away at it as if it were on. 

Calum shuffles in a few minutes later. “Um, babe. It’s off.”

You don’t reply but do look up. He holds up three different packages. “Here’s to hoping one of these is worthwhile.” You place your bass back to the stand and take one that sounds like one you’re okay with using. Calum hands you a towel so you can wipe your fingers off after you get it placed onto your face. He helps get it right and then you help him with his and the two of you slip onto the couch, legs entangled and leaning into opposite ends of the couch.

You laugh at Calum’s story as you scroll mindless through app after app. In the boredom you snap a picture of Calum with the face masks on and don’t think too much of it, saving it to the album with all the silly and cute photos of him are--there are tons. 

“I mean the sun is a star. Though the ones we see have been dead for a long time.”

Calum taps your leg with his foot. “It was a simple question--to be the sun or the stars. I didn’t ask for this philosophical crisis.”

“Why would it not weigh in your decision! If you’re a star like the ones we see at night, you’re technically already dead. You wanna be dead?” You huff, sitting up. 

“I mean, no, but c’mon.”

“It’s a valid thing to consider, that’s all I’m saying!”

He laughs. “Okay, sun or the moon?”

“You first,” you return and just then your alarm on your phone goes off. The two of you shuffle back to the bathroom and take off the masks. 

“Moon, maybe,” he counters. 

You nod. “Fitting. When should we get started on that recipe of your moms? Is it super involved?”

“Nah, it’s pretty easy. Normal time should be good. I’m going to read outside if you want to join.”

“Maybe in a bit.”

Calum nods, grabbing his book as he passes through the bedroom and the patter of Duke’s claws follow behind him. You go back to the music room, turn on the amp and then actually play a little something. It’s nothing fancy--just the arrangement you put together with Calum as a practice exercise once. You play it for a bit, adding a little flair. When you phone rings, you pause to answer it. You wouldn’t normally, but the number looks semi recognizable so you answer it. 

It’s just a scam call and you hang up but then notice some other notifications. Before you realize it, you’re deep into Twitter. You’ve run across the trend of people posting pictures of themselves and their significant others with the caption, The Face Vs The Face Sitting On It. It made you laugh just a little bit at first. And then you kept going down the rabbit hole. Some are silly, most are good pictures. 

While it’s not exactly secret that you and Calum are dating, you two don’t post too much. Calum isn’t incline to post on social media in the first place and while you use it a bit more than him, you try not to post too much about him out of respect. However, as you look tap on quote retweet and bring up your photos you think maybe one silly post wouldn’t hurt. So you grab the one of him recently with the face masks and then one of yourself--it’s silly too, a little blurry too in the darkness that it was taken in. 

You hit post and watch the likes come in. Then keep scrolling. Eventually you have to put the bass away and peel yourself from the couch to find Calum and see if he’s hungry enough for dinner. Just as you round the corner to the office, you spy him stepping through the glass sliding backdoor. “Hungry?” you ask. 

He nods, “Yeah.”

The two of you, with Duke trotting ahead, make your way down the hallway and into the kitchen. “You’re funny,” he states, washing his hands first. 

“Thank you. I’ll be here until you kick me out.”

He laughs. “No, the pictures you posted. On Twitter.”

You’re shocked that he noticed it that fast. Normally it took him a bit longer to see silly stuff like that. “Hope you don’t mind.”

“Nah. What I hope you don’t mind is my reply.”

At first you’re nervous. Calum could’ve gone one of two ways--super silly and broke out even worse photos of you possibly not sober or he went super on trend with it and pulled out a photo of you done up for a date night. Not that you preferred one over the other, but sometimes you liked to keep your relationship light on social media. It was easier that way. There wasn’t any real pressure that way. Though the fans seemed to have enjoyed it when you posted more posed and serious content. 

You liked to keep it a bit more real. You and Calum didn’t do the whole nine yards a lot--you two were normal people who hated getting out of bed some days and went as well into the afternoon before showering at times and walked Duke and went to doctor’s appointments like everyone does. So you always opted for a bit of a joke, a silly Tweet or photo whenever you could. 

“What did you post?” you ask. 

He shrugs, taking up the knife to dice the onion. “I’m not telling you.”

You glance at the printed out recipe and get a pan on the aisle over medium heat before pulling out your phone. As you load the app, you listen to the snap of the knife fitting the wooden cutting board. You type Calum’s name and tap onto his profile. 

While there’s is silly--I do want to take a moment to show off my favorite person in the world. So here we go, The Face Vs. The Face Sitting On It. Below is attached a picture of him--you snapped while you two were out for lunch one day. The black t-shirt tight around his biceps as he slyly grins into the camera. The lights in the background are just barely in focus of the resturant and Calum’s glancing out of the window next to him. You remember that you were recording him, or at least you thought you were, and told him that he was handsome. Not the first time, but everytime he did, he blushed and turn away. And you captured it here too. 

The photo of you is actually one with him in it. The guys got together and did a big family dinner and the two of you posed at Crystal’s request in the slightly matching outfits. You hadn’t intended to match--though black was a staple in both your wardrobes. You were a bit different thanks to the pop of color in your shoes, but in the lighting of the street lamp, you had to admit that you did look hot. The first couple of  buttons on your shirt you were undone and with your hands tucked into the pockets, you looked like you owned shit. 

“While I hoped that you’d go with something more silly, I will take this,” you finally say. 

“That picture is literally my background for a reason,” he returns. 

You kiss his cheek and then trace over the stubble with your teeth to his ear. “Can I make a reservation for tonight?”

“The table is reserved for you literally at all times,” he returns in a breathe. 

“Good,” you laugh and then glance back to the recipe. 

[shhhhyoursister]

enemies to lovers/band!au

okay yeah heres the final one, the big boy, the one im probably proudest of, i really really hope you guys like it!!

Matteo was lucky that the conductor liked him, because showing up 10 minutes late to the first rehearsal of the year was bad, even for him. Matteo wasn’t known to be the most responsible member of the band, and usually the only thing he could be counted on to do right every rehearsal was show up, and show up on time. He adjusted his grip on his baritone case as he sped down the hall of the music department, cursing as he checked the time on his phone again, and when he got to the door of the theater they rehearsed in, he cracked it open as quietly as he could.

“Ah, Matteo!” the conductor yelled from the stage, and Matteo flinched before stepping fully into the room, “You decided to show up! I was worried you quit after playing that really loud wrong note at the concert last semester.”

“Which one?” Matteo joked back, knowing that if it was any other professor he would have just apologized and rushed to put his instrument together. He was on a first name basis with Rick, who was probably the most laid back member of the music faculty. Some of the players on stage laughed at the exchange, and Matteo smiled as he popped his case open.

“Just hurry up, we do actually need a full band to rehearse,” Rick said, turning back to his stand with a chuckle, “and poor David looks like he’s going to explode if we don’t start soon.”

Matteo rolled his eyes. As if that would make him set his baritone up faster. He ignored the second wave of laughter that followed the conductor’s comment and grabbed the folder with his music, and made his way onto the stage. He took his seat next to the other baritones, in the third chair, and tried to ignore the glare he could feel coming from the clarinet section.

Matteo was a little upset that he had missed his favorite part of each rehearsal; before Rick got there, when people were still whispering to their stand partners, some quietly tuning their instruments or practicing difficult measures, some tapping their feet and counting out the beats. It felt more alive than when everyone was coming together to play one piece, and while Matteo loved the sound of a full band playing beautiful music, he really needed that calm before the storm. It reminded him that the music that he listened to came from people like him, who had to practice and tune and count and focus to produce the notes and phrases that seemed to flow so naturally.

He risked a glance over at David when Rick asked him to play a note so he could tune the band to it, and, like always, felt a little bit of a shiver run through him when he watched David take a deep breath before playing out a long, perfectly in-tune note. He knew it wasn’t only because of the sound of the clarinet, which Matteo secretly thought was the nicest sounding of all the wind instruments. Although David couldn’t stand him, and Matteo didn’t have too many kind feelings towards him either, it was hard to deny that first of all, David was an amazing musician, and second of all, much less importantly, he was really hot.

Matteo didn’t feel bad for thinking it. Every person in the band who was into men was into David. Matteo would hear girls whispering about him while they were setting up their flutes and oboes, and there was the one guy in the saxophone section who had been trying to get his number for a year. It was old news, but Matteo couldn’t help himself from staring at David when he had long measures of rests, and had to admit that David was the cause of his distraction during some rehearsals.

Rick finished tuning the band, and had them flip to the piece that Matteo was the least confident in. He looked up and took a breath with the whole band when the conductor brought his arms up, and dropped his eyes back to the notes a split second before the downbeat.

Inevitably, Matteo got to a part in the song where he had four measures of rest, and he leaned back in his chair a bit and stretched his neck out. He was counting on his fingers and tapping his foot to the tempo and managed to come back in at the right time, only for Rick to cut them off as he flipped aggressively through the papers on his stand.

“Where is the second page? Why do I only have half of the score here?” He asked angrily, and then huffed and said, “Okay, everyone take out the next piece. David, take over for me.”

Matteo rolled his eyes as Rick walked off the stage, and David took his place in front of the band. David always got the most cocky, smug look whenever he was asked to conduct, and some people rolled their eyes because they knew David was harsher, faster, and much less forgiving than Rick was.

“Okay guys, remember we tried to play this last semester, but some people couldn’t keep up,” his eyes flicked to Matteo, who just shrugged, and then smiled as the frown on David’s face deepened and he continued, “as long as everyone watches me, we’ll be able to get through it. Let’s start at the beginning.”

That won’t be too hard, Matteo thought to himself, and smiled before bringing his lips to the mouthpiece.

They got through the first half of the song with no issues, David going slower than usual to let people warm up to playing it again. Matteo knew that the only reason he hadn’t messed up yet was because his eyes were glued to his sheet music, but he saw that the tempo was changing in a few measures so he would have to look up. Once he did, he caught sight of the serious expression on David’s face, his eyes scanning over the band and darting down to the score in front of him, his arms waving and emphasizing different beats in a fluid and practiced way, keeping the tempo while cuing the other instruments to come in.

“Stop, stop! You were supposed to come in there, baritones, what happened? Are we playing too slow for you?”

Matteo (and everyone else) knew that when David was yelling at the baritones, he was really yelling at Matteo. His animosity was known amongst the other students in the band, so they weren’t surprised to hear a critique aimed at that section of the low brass. That was confirmed when Matteo looked up to see David glaring directly at him, his hand that wasn’t holding the baton clenched tightly around the stand.

They got through the rest of the song with no incidents, Matteo purposefully playing quieter to avoid making any loud mistakes. Rick came back just as David was berating them for speeding up at the end, and he clapped him on the shoulder before waving the missing pages of his score in the air.

“Thank you, David, for re-traumatizing your bandmates. Let’s go back to the first piece, and I promise I won’t yell as much as he did.”

The band laughed and David chuckled (at least he’s self aware, Matteo thought to himself) as he took his seat, with one final glance in Matteo’s direction. They could both see each other from where they were sitting, David being at the end of the second row and Matteo diagonal across from him in the back. He watched as David settled back into his seat and picked his clarinet up, his tongue flicking out to wet the reed, and when David’s eyes shifted back over to him he blushed and looked down at the floor. He scowled, angry that he got caught staring.

***

He struggled through the first week, playing confidently when he could and quieting down whenever he got lost until he could figure out where they were again. Sometimes he found himself so confused he would whisper out of the corner of his mouth, “Where are we?” to his stand partner, and she would roll her eyes before pointing out the correct measure.

The next week of rehearsals, Matteo started out on a much better foot. He was running early as opposed to late, and he hummed to himself as he strolled calmly down the hall leading to the theater. There was one measure of their newest song that he just couldn’t get right, and he flipped open his folder as he walked, knowing that the page with that measure would be at the front. He stopped paying attention to where he was walking, tapping out the beat of the notes on his hip, and just as he turned the corner into the room he crashed into someone leaving, and heard an annoyed, “Are you serious?”

He tensed when he recognized David’s voice, and looked up to see the exact glare he was expecting aimed directly at him. He almost missed the stack of papers that David had dropped, and only noticed when one sheet landed perfectly on top of his open folder.

“Sorry,” Matteo muttered, not knowing what else to say, “let me help.”

“No, I’ll do it,” David snapped back, the glare on his face darkening a little as he snatched the paper on top of Matteo’s folder and said, “I had them organized by section, and by part. You’d just fuck it up. Go set up.”

Matteo took a deep breath through his nose, tired of being torn down every single time David spoke to him, and he took another breath before glaring back and saying, “I wouldn’t fuck it up. I know how sheet music works.”

“Yeah, but if Rick wanted you doing any of this I’m sure he would have asked,” David scoffed, kneeling down so he could gather the papers together, “but he didn’t.”

Matteo bit his lip as felt something angry building in his stomach, and he knew it wasn’t professional or smart of him to do but he couldn’t help but bite back, “Look, we all know that you’re just using us to set yourself up for the future, and that’s fine, but it doesn’t give you the excuse to be a fucking asshole all the time.”

He stormed off before he could see David’s reaction, and set his baritone up with trembling fingers. He was already in his seat and tuned up by the time David stalked into the theater with all of the papers, and Matteo watched with a smug grin as David quietly apologized to Rick for being late before handing off the sheet music and taking his seat. He grabbed his clarinet, his fingers pressing down on the keys harder than was probably good for them, and shot Matteo one final, piercing glare before turning to his music. Matteo smiled to himself as the conductor got everyone’s attention.

***

Things got a little more tense after that.

Getting even more on the bad side of the most talented, and most respected (and most feared) musician in the band was not Matteo’s best idea, but he had no idea how to fix it, and didn’t even know if he cared enough to.

Matteo didn’t know exactly what he was going to do once he graduated, but assumed that he’d figure something out. Pit bands were always looking for fresh talent, so he assumed that he would join one of those and get some menial job on the side while he waited to see where his life would lead. He knew that David, on the other hand, had a plan, and it seemed like their interaction in the hallway led David to believe that Matteo was the one thing standing in his way.

Another week of rehearsals went by, Matteo trying his best not to mess up, and failing almost every session. He knew that his conductor was starting to get a little frustrated, and he didn’t know how to explain that his new bout of issues weren’t coming from a lack of understanding the music; it was just difficult to play when you could feel someone openly glaring at you anytime the first clarinets had rests in the music. He and David hadn’t spoken or interacted at all since the incident in the hallway. They had never really spoken before that, so it wasn’t too unusual, but that amount of glaring was new.

And after a day or two, Matteo started glaring back. He would only do it when David wasn’t looking at him, either focused on the music or counting or watching the conductor, and it felt like the smallest form of retaliation that Matteo was willing to participate in. He knew that he couldn’t talk back to Rick, and he was doing all he could to avoid having to actually speak with David, so the glaring was a good alternative.

It was also a bit of a problem, the glaring. Sometimes Matteo would get lost in his own anger, resulting in him getting lost in the music, and Rick would stop the band and tell the baritones to pay attention to the music, not their bandmates, and Matteo would whip his head back to his music, his cheeks red at being caught.

It came to a head during one rehearsal, the first rehearsal since the glaring had started where Rick had to step out of the room. He handed David his baton and walked off with a wave of his hand, and Matteo noticed David smirking in his direction as he took up the position in front of the band.

“Okay, we’re going to start at measure 46,” David said, his eyes yet again scanning over every member of the band, squinting a little as they passed over Matteo, “the low brass has really been struggling with this section, and I’m going to take it faster so we can see exactly who is having trouble.”

Matteo’s eyes widened as he looked over the part David was referencing, realizing quickly that it was the hardest set of measures for the baritone section out of all of their pieces. He looked up again, trying to look determined despite the nerves starting to make his fingers twitch on the valves of his baritone, and caught David smirking at him again. David raised the baton, and Matteo lifted his baritone to his mouth and tried to focus his eyes on the music.

He managed to play through the first few measures correctly, but his nerves got the best of him and he messed up in one of the worst ways you can mess up as a musician; playing during a full-band rest. He felt his entire body tense up as half the band turned to stare at him, and he knew that it was the perfect excuse for David to go off on him.

“I heard that in the baritones, don’t let me hear it again.” David said sternly, the tip of the baton pointing right at Matteo. He looked mad, but there was something slightly encouraging there too, like he was trying to give Matteo another chance.

Matteo was surprised but grateful that his mistake didn’t send David into a fit and really tried to take that second chance and run with it. They started playing again, and Matteo made it through that measure, and then managed to mess up on the next one. He held one note too long and then played a sharp instead of a flat, and David didn’t stop the band but his head flicked to Matteo and he gave him a look that made his fingers freeze, and it took him a measure to come back in because for some reason that look scared him more than the many critiques and looks he had gotten in the past. David looked furious, as if Matteo was messing up intentionally.

They played through the rest of the section, Matteo getting less tense the more measures he played right, and just as they reached the last measure Rick came back into the theater, the door creaking a little behind him, but enough that it distracted Matteo, who not only played the last note wrong, but he felt his face heat up at the monstrous honk that came out the bell of his instrument.

“Matteo!” David snapped, and his other hand grabbed the top half of the baton and quickly bent it, snapping that as well.

Most of the band  gasped, Matteo included. David seemed shocked himself, staring down at the fractured wood in his hands. Rick walked up to him and without saying a word, grabbed the two pieces, and turned to face the band with a stoic expression.

“I think I’ll call it for today, everyone. I’ll see you tomorrow,” he said, before dropping a hand onto David’s shoulder and looking up at Matteo and saying, “You two, in my office.”

Matteo gulped, and tried to ignore the look on David’s face as he got out of his seat and made his way over to his case. He put his baritone away slowly, watching as the rest of the band filtered out through the main doors, some shooting him sympathetic looks as they walked out. He might not have been the best member of the band, but he was nice enough that most people liked him enough, and probably felt bad knowing that he was about to get screamed at. He looked away when he saw David walk into Rick’s office hot on his heels, already saying something that would probably get Matteo in more trouble.

He made his way over to the office once he had all of his stuff together, and took a deep breath before knocking on the door and walking in. He entered and saw Rick sitting at his desk, looking annoyed, and David standing in front of him with his arms crossed over his chest. He looked like he had just finished ranting, his face red and his chest heaving, and he turned to fix Matteo with a glare as he walked into the room.

“I don’t know why two of my best musicians hate each other as much as you guys do,” he started, and Matteo’s eyes widened a bit at the bluntness of his statement along with the compliment, “but you need to work it out before next week.”

“Sir, I don’t know if I’d say he’s one of the best-” David started, his voice hiding the hint of a pretentious laugh, and before thinking about it Matteo cut him off.

“You don’t know shit about how I play.”

David turned to him with tight lips and said, “Well, I’ve conducted you before, so I think I have a pretty good idea.”

“Yeah, how could I forget being verbally abused.”

“It wasn’t abuse, if you aren’t going to play right I’m going to say something and I’m sorry if I don't sugarcoat it. I focus on being right, not on being nice.”

“Yeah, obviously.” Matteo muttered under his breath, and just as David turned to him to snap back at him, Rick clapped his hands together, loudly.

“Okay, I know what we’re going to do to fix this.”

***

That was how Matteo found himself the next day, an hour before band was supposed to start, during his only free period of the day, making his way to the music building so he could get to the practice rooms. He was walking slow, making sure to be on time but exactly on time, because he didn’t want to spend a second longer with David than he had to.

To their chagrin, Rick decided that the best way for the two to get along was for David to help Matteo figure out the parts of the music that he was struggling with. He had set up mandatory twice a week private sessions for both of them. Matteo had a feeling they wouldn’t make it past the first week without screaming at each other.

Matteo got to the door of the room he was meant to meet David in, and he could hear shuffling so he knew David was there already. He rolled his eyes and braced himself before pushing into the room.

“Put your instrument together,” David said, not even looking at Matteo as he set two chairs up in front of a stand, “ and get your music out. Let’s not be here any longer than we have to be.”

David finally turned around when Matteo didn’t move, and raised an eyebrow at him. Matteo had been expecting the hostility, and knew what he wanted to say in response.

“If we’re being forced to do this,” he said calmly, dropping his baritone case on the chair and popping it open, “I’m not going to let you be a dick to me. You need to be here just as much as I do. If you’re mean I’ll walk out, and then we’re both fucked. Don’t test me.”

He turned and started setting his baritone up, not waiting for David to react or respond to what he said. He only looked up at him once he sat in the chair and had his music on the stand, and he was surprised to see David look down at the ground, his face almost completely neutral except for the corners of his lips, which were twitching up a little.

“Fine,” David said, sitting down in the other chair, moving his leg quickly when his knee bumped into Matteo’s, “Play it right and I won’t be a dick.”

Matteo rolled his eyes but figured that was the best he was going to get, so he took a deep breath before bringing his mouthpiece up to his lips.

He played through the first few measures that David pointed at, trying to be as quick as he could while still following the tempo David was tapping out and playing the notes correctly. He knew that he had nowhere to hide if he messed up. Not that he really did during their bigger rehearsals, but he also felt much more confident playing by himself. He knew he wasn’t going to mess up the timing of anything, but he was worried about a set of measures near the end that had a beat that was so complicated he couldn’t figure it out.

He messed up right away when they got to it and he stopped, expecting David to make some harsh comment that would have him snapping back, but was surprised when his only reaction was, “Go back a few measures, try it again.”

He tried again and messed it up the same way, and then tried again, before putting his baritone down with a huff. He was frustrated at himself for messing it up, especially for messing it up in front of David, knowing that there was no way he wouldn’t say something sarcastic or rude after Matteo messed up for the third time.

“Why are you counting it like that?” David asked, his voice surprisingly devoid of any mocking or cruel tone. He sounded genuinely curious, but Matteo was still wary.

“I don’t know, because that’s how it looks?” He answered quickly, rolling his eyes, shifting uncomfortably under his horn.

“If I’m promising not to be a dick, you need to promise to take this seriously,” David said, turning to look directly at Matteo for the first time since the lesson had started, “I know you don’t really care about all this, but I do, so if that means teaching you how to fucking count I’ll do it. Now, play it again, but right.”

“Who says I don’t care?” Matteo asked, keeping his baritone firmly in his lap, “And I know how to count. That measure just makes no fucking sense.”

“Yes it does, you just aren’t counting it right,” David said, his voice tight, and he took a breath before saying more calmly, “here, give me your horn, I’ll show you.”

Matteo hesitated before handing it over, and he sighed a little in relief when David took Matteo’s mouthpiece off and took another one out of his bag.

Matteo was always impressed at the sound that David was able to pull out of any instrument he touched. There were multiple times where their conductor would ask David to grab an extra trumpet or sax or flute or set of mallets for a marimba, and would shove him wherever the band needed extra help. The only reason he never sent him to sit with Matteo’s section was because they didn’t have any extra horns, and Matteo was beyond grateful for that.

David pointed at the measure, and said, “See, you’re playing this,” he played out the beat that Matteo had been playing and then stopped and said, “but that amount of notes doesn’t fit in the measure, you’re adding an extra one in the middle. It’s supposed to sound like this,” he raised the baritone to his lips again and played out the measure, tapping his foot loudly as he continued playing so Matteo could hear how that measure fit into the rest of the phrase.

He gave Matteo the horn back after switching the mouthpieces again, and Matteo hesitated before starting to play again, and when he got to the measure and played it the way David showed him, it flowed perfectly into the next one and he even saw David smile a little.

“Yeah, you got it that time,” David said, and Matteo smiled back at him before turning back to his music as David said, “now let’s fix this other part.”

***

After a couple of weeks of the private sessions, Matteo was starting to sense a pattern. They would be completely civil during their one-on-one sessions, David only critiquing when necessary and only with comments that were actually helpful, and then they would get to band and it would start all over again. Matteo would get lost, Rick would snap at his section, he would look over and see David glaring at him or shaking his head in disappointment.

He didn’t know why it was getting to him in a way that it hadn’t before. He always knew that David was a little tougher on him than others, but he had really been hoping that the private sessions would stop the glares and the looks and the scoffs whenever he messed up. If anything, the private sessions only made the actual rehearsals worse.

The second boiling point was reached their third week of the private sessions. Matteo had sat through his perfectly cordial hour with David before band, and was even looking forward to playing that day. He felt like he had finally nailed the set of measures that he and David had been working on so he was excited for Rick to hear him play it right. He was so giddy about it that he even smiled when he caught David looking at him from across the band. David had raised a confused eyebrow at him before shifting his gaze back to the front of the band, and Matteo blushed and looked down at the ground, feeling a little silly.

Again, after a little while the conductor had to step away, and again David took his place at the stand, and picked up the baton. He looked right at Matteo as he told the band that they were going to start a few measures before the one Matteo had been messing up, and he sat up a little straighter and returned the look, nodding when David finished speaking. David nodded the slightest bit back at him before raising his arms, and Matteo breathed with the rest of the band before bringing his mouthpiece up to his lips.

And it was like nothing had changed. Matteo found himself getting lost watching David’s waving his arms in all directions, wild but completely in control of himself and the band. He missed one note and David’s eyes flicked to him, and held there as Matteo panicked and stumbled his way through the measure that he had spent two weeks of private lessons fixing.

He saw David’s jaw clench and he cut the band off with a sharp wave of his hand, before turning his full body in Matteo’s direction to say, “So the last few weeks have been a total waste of my time?”

Matteo didn’t think before standing up and walking off the stage, and out of the theater. He ignored the whispers and looks that followed him out, didn’t think about when he was going to be able to go back and get his case and bag and music, and he walked to the hallway of practice rooms and entered one, slamming the door behind him.

***

He emailed Rick and got permission to skip rehearsal the next day, the conductor ending the email with We really need to figure this out before your issues with David end up hurting the rest of the band. Matteo had read the response and collapsed back into bed, glaring over at his baritone (in the case, his roommate and friends brought his stuff out for him after he left).

It was also the first night of the first concert in the music department. Matteo wasn’t performing but he was required to go, and as he got himself ready in his appropriate concert attire, he worried over the fact that David was going to be there, to perform and to watch. Matteo couldn’t think of something he’d like to do less than watch the dude who embarrassed him in front of their entire band perform and get endless praise for it.

Matteo sat quietly next to his friends throughout the concert, and when David walked onto the stage, he felt himself tense up. His best friend Jonas, a trumpet player who was more than aware of the situation in and out of rehearsal, put a hand on his leg and squeezed, trying to offer a bit of comfort. Matteo smiled tightly at him as David lifted his clarinet to his lips and took a deep breath.

No matter how much Matteo hated him, he couldn’t ignore the fact that David was the best clarinet player he had ever heard. It was like his body and his clarinet were formed together, the way he breathed sound through it and moved around it, how quickly he could run his fingers over the keys and play the most complicated string of notes without a single flaw. Matteo found himself entranced by the song David played, and he opened his eyes when the last note faded out into the otherwise silent theater, and he watched as David kept his clarinet up for a beat after the song finished before his eyes opened, and they looked directly into Matteo’s as the audience clapped around him.

He looked away as quickly as he could, ignoring the face Jonas made at his sudden movement, and tried to focus his attention completely on the girl who stepped up next with her violin. He only let his eyes flick to David once more before the concert was over, and while his view was obscured because David was sitting a few rows ahead of him, Matteo could see his fingers twitching in his lap, probably resisting the urge to make the player follow his lead. The concert was over after that last girl, and Matteo turned to his friends quickly to stop himself from staring in David’s direction again.

Coincidentally, (or not at all) the night of the first concert in the music department was also the night of the first party being held by some people in the percussion section, a couple of guys who had a big house that was perfect for hosting a bunch of drunk but mild-mannered music majors.

Matteo had barely even wanted to go, knowing that his reputation amongst the rest of the band was not a great one. He wasn’t hated, but most only knew of him because of the amount of times per rehearsal the conductor would have to stop and critique the baritones (him) or tell the baritones (him) what measure they were on, and now because of all the new drama with David. He also didn’t want to face his bandmates after walking out during the last rehearsal, but the pushing and prodding of his friends made him reluctantly agree.

“Dude, we’re gonna get you so fucked up you can’t even think about what an asshole Schreibner is,” Carlos said as they made their way to the house.

Matteo snorted as they turned onto the correct block, and they quickly spotted the house that was holding the party. There were lights and music loud enough that they could hear it down the street, and Carlos and Abdi started whooping before running over to it.

“You don’t have to go in if you don’t want to,” Jonas said when Matteo hesitated near the front door.

Matteo waited another second before shoving into the house, and throwing back over his shoulder, “Who cares about that asshole, I want to drink!”

And drink he did. Matteo was on his third beer after only twenty minutes, and he was considering it a win that he hadn’t seen David yet. He could feel himself getting more drunk, and didn’t know what he would even say to David if he saw him. He was glad that the little corner of the room he and his friends had grabbed seemed to be pretty hidden away.

Matteo was handed a joint after a little while and he grabbed it quickly, sticking the end in his mouth and taking a deep hit. He closed his eyes as he blew the smoke out his nose, and took another hit as he opened his eyes slowly, and saw David walk into the room. He didn’t seem to notice Matteo though, seemingly focused on getting to someone that was standing in the opposite corner.

“I didn’t know that David and Leonie are friends,” Carlos said quietly, staring over at the two, “she’s in the orchestra with Kiki. I heard she’s just like David but worse.”

“Matteo would love her, then,” Jonas said, ruffling his hair, and he flipped him off before taking another hit and passing the joint along.

“Why are talented and attractive people such assholes,” Matteo said, and when the three other boys turned to him, their eyes wide, he asked, “what?”

“Did you just say something nice about David?” Abdi asked with a grin, and Matteo rolled his eyes as the boys all oooohed.

“Me saying he’s attractive and talented isn’t nice, especially when that was the lead up to me calling him an asshole,” Matteo said, grabbing the joint when it was handed back to him, “I don’t have a single nice thing to say about David. He can play good, but he’s a piece of shit and nobody is going to hire someone with his kind of attitude. He thinks just ‘cause he can play and wave his arms around in the air that he’s going to become a famous musician and conductor, but he needs to work on being a decent fucking person first.”

His rant wasn’t the most coherent, but it felt good to get off his chest, and he leaned back against the wall and took a hit to emphasize his point. The boys were quiet, and when Matteo raised an eyebrow at Jonas, he tilted his head to the front of the group where David was standing, scowling at him.

“We need to fucking talk.” David growled out through his teeth, his hands clenched into tight fists at his sides, looking like he was going to vibrate out of his skin with the amount of tension in his body.

Matteo said nothing but handed the joint off, and followed after David when he turned and walked out of the room. He was done. At that point he didn’t give a fuck if he got kicked from the program, or if he was fucking kicked out of the school, because he and David needed to settle whatever their issue was then and there.

David led him down the hall and he knocked loudly on a door before shoving it open, and grabbed Matteo’s wrist to pull him inside. Matteo noticed it was a bathroom, and quickly glanced around to see if anybody was watching them. He wondered what they thought was happening. Someone in the band would probably recognize the stiff way David was holding his body, and see Matteo trailing almost lazily behind him, and know that something was about to go down. But someone else might just see two boys going into a bathroom together at a party, and come to a completely different conclusion. Matteo almost laughed at the thought. Yeah, he was gay, but he didn’t know if David was. He didn’t know if David even had the time or patience to date or hook up with anyone.

He could tell that his apparent apathy towards the situation was just pissing David off further, so he closed the door slowly, not even locking it before leaning back against it with a bored sigh. He definitely wasn’t actually as calm as he looked; he crossed his arms across his chest so the shaking in his hands would be less obvious, and it was taking a lot of effort to keep his face neutral when he saw how angry David was. He didn’t think David was going to hurt him or anything, but he was terrified about what the fight could lead to when it came to his position in the band.

“I don’t know what your fucking problem is, Matteo, but I don’t have any kind of attitude. I care about what I do and I want it to be done right. It’s not my fault that you don’t care enough to actually try, but it is really fucking with my experience here,” David said quietly, his voice a little too calm for his red face and clenched fists, “I can’t conduct a band when I need to stop every five seconds because you lose your place.”

Matteo snorted, and leaned his head back against the door. It was taking him a minute to figure out what he wanted to say and he was surprised that David was quiet, like he was giving Matteo the time to think.

“David,” Matteo said, after figuring out what was probably the dumbest part of the whole issue, “you’re good enough to be hired anywhere. Me being a shitty band member won’t stop you,” he paused for a moment, and then picked his head up and said, “And I do try. I’m good. The only reason I’m still here is because they know I’m good. I just don’t need to prove it like you do.”

He was glad that his mind was clear enough to get his exact point across, and he watched David as his words sunk in, realizing that David had probably drank too, considering the way he was leaning back on the counter, his legs a little unsteady. David stared at Matteo for a minute before standing up straighter.

“I don’t need to prove anything,” he said, “I know I’m good.”

“Then why are you such a dick?” Matteo asked, “Like, specifically to me? Yeah, you yell at everyone but you’re just mean to me. Are you homophobic or something?”

Matteo couldn’t stop the thought from drifting through his mind and out his drunk mouth. Maybe David was, and there was going to be no way to solve the issue. What the fuck would he tell Rick?

“What? No, I’m not homophobic,” David said, looking like he wanted to laugh at the idea but was too confused to, “I’m trans.”

“Trans people can be homophobic.” Matteo said, shrugging, knowing that it was a stupid point to make. He was honestly just happy for a break in the tension.

David actually laughed, before tilting his head and smirking at Matteo and saying, “Trust me, I’m not. That would be kinda weird considering I’m also not straight.”

The way he said it made something hot bloom in Matteo’s stomach, and he hated his stupid, gay brain for reacting. That statement combined with the look on David’s face, and the fact that despite their stupid rivalry David was still really fucking hot, was making Matteo lose sight of the original conversation a little.

“You’re hot.” He said, verbalizing his thoughts before he could stop himself, and then he clamped his mouth shut and bit his lip, half terrified that David was going to get angrier, and half glad that he was just getting everything off his chest thanks to the alcohol in his system.

David fell back against the counter, the smirk dropping from his face, and he blinked before stammering out, “Uh. What?”

“I think you heard me,” Matteo said, shrugging, and then he looked off to the side before looking back at David’s confused face and saying again, “you’re hot.”

“Why- what does that have to do with any of this?” David asked, and Matteo couldn’t tell if he was angrier but he sounded different, in a way that made him stand up against the door a little.

He just shrugged again, and then stared at David as he tried to work through whatever was going on in his head. Matteo watched as he stood still for a minute, his fists loosening and tightening at his sides, and he watched as David’s eyes scanned up and down his body with the same focus they would scan the band with, and he watched as David pushed himself off the sink, took a few confident steps forward, and shoved Matteo against the door and pressed their lips together.

Matteo’s eyes widened and then slid closed as he felt David’s hands clutching tight onto his hips, and he grabbed at David’s arms and just as he started moving his lips David pulled away roughly, and was back against the sink in a second.

“That was a bad idea,” David said, holding onto the edge of the sink, avoiding Matteo’s eyes by looking off to the side, “we’re both drunk, we’re fighting, we can’t do that.”

“We don’t have to fight,” Matteo said, knowing that it probably was a bad idea but stepping forward anyway, until he was close enough to see just how tight David was anchoring himself to the sink, “you can tell me to fuck off and I will. Or,” he said, taking another step closer until his foot was kicking against David’s and he could reach out and grab his wrist, “I can stay.”

David only looked back at him when he felt the tug on his arm, and he looked down at Matteo’s hand before looking him in the eyes. Matteo took a risk and slid his hand down, grabbing David’s, and was shocked when David used that grip to pull him in for another kiss, backing him up until his back was smacking into the door again. He got an arm around David’s neck before he was pulling away,  again, and Matteo sighed as David rubbed a hand over his face and said, “Fuck, no, this is such a bad idea.”

“Maybe,” Matteo said, rolling his shoulders as he asked, “can you just make up your mind? This is hurting my back.”

David looked at Matteo again, looked him up and down the same way that he had earlier that night, and something seemed to click. He tilted his head again, his eyes filled with a sudden new brightness as he stepped forward, placing his hands on the door on either side of Matteo’s hips, boxing him in.

“Okay, here’s the plan,” he said, and Matteo raised an eyebrow, amused, before he continued, “whatever happens tonight happens, and then we don’t talk about it, and it never happens again. Deal?”

Matteo thought it over for a minute, more trying to get one last little jab at David by making him wait for an answer, and once he saw David’s face go from confident to bordering on annoyed, he grinned and stuck out his hand, and said, “Deal.”

David ignored his hand but grabbed his ass and pulled him in close, his hands dragging up to Matteo’s waist as their mouths met again, and Matteo slid a hand into David’s hair and let himself melt against the door.

***

Matteo woke up the next morning with a dry mouth and a bad headache, both of which he attributed to the hangover he almost definitely had. He couldn’t even remember drinking that much, but the pain behind his eyes was more than just him being tired like usual. He got himself out of bed, just wanting to drink some water and get into a hot shower to wash away the sweat and alcohol from the party.

He got into the bathroom and turned the shower on, tugging his shirt over his head as he yawned and rubbed at his eyes. He blinked at himself in the mirror, taking in the pale face, the fucked up hair, the red eyes, the bruise on his neck, the-

Matteo jolted forward and slapped his hand over the mark on his neck, before moving it so he could gawk at the dark purple and red. Seeing it brought back a rush of memories from the night before, memories that Matteo couldn’t believe he had forgotten, and he stared at himself with wide eyes and let out a quiet, “Fuck.”

***

Matteo debated whether or not he should skip the next band rehearsal. He knew that realisitcally he couldn’t, and that skipping because of a hickey was so dumb that he shouldn’t have even been considering it. He just didn’t want to face his friends and have them ask questions, and even more than that he didn’t want to see David.

He figured that David wasn’t planning on showing up for their usual private session, so he got to band with just enough time to still be considered early, and he found a quiet corner of the theater to set his baritone up in, a row of seats off to the side. He smiled when he saw Jonas come in, but it fell quickly when he saw Jonas notice the hickey on his neck, and the pure joy and confusion that came over his face.

“Dude!” Jonas exclaimed, staring obviously at the mark, “Who gave you that?”

“Someone from the orchestra, I barely remember his name.” Matteo said as casually as he could, having thought of the lie on his way to band. Jonas nodded with a grin and held out his fist, and Matteo rolled his eyes and bumped his against it, grateful that the idea of him and David hooking up was so unbelievable that it wouldn’t even enter Jonas’ mind.

“And what happened with Schreibner?” Jonas was bouncing on his toes, excited for the news and probably expecting a story.

Matteo snorted and rolled his eyes again, before turning back to his half-assembled baritone, and shrugged and said, “We worked it out.”

Fucked it out is more like it, Matteo thought to himself, and he shook his head to rid it of that kind of thinking.

Matteo got settled in his seat, listening to the cacophony around him, and then finally let himself glance around the room to see where David was. He was surprised when he didn’t find him, unable to think of any other time where David showed up late (besides that one time with the sheet music), but the doors suddenly burst open and the conductor walked in, David hot on his heels as always, whispering as they finished up what looked to be an intense conversation.

“Sorry we’re late, we got caught up discussing the sequence of songs for the concert, but I’m glad to see you’re all ready to go.” Rick said as he grabbed his baton, and he waited for David to sit in his usual seat in the clarinet section before counting them into their first song.

Matteo spent the entire rehearsal trying his hardest to not stare at David while doing exactly that, but he was lucky that David never returned his gaze. He seemed to be actively avoiding looking in Matteo’s direction, which made sense considering the deal they had made, but he was still a little let down that David didn’t even look at him. He even found himself disappointed when David didn’t end up conducting that day, and got up and went over to his case once they were dismissed.

He was glaring at his bottle of valve oil, realizing that he was low and was going to need to go get more, when a shadow fell over him. He looked up with a smile, assuming it would be Jonas, but it dropped when he saw David standing there. He had his jacket on, his clarinet case clutched tightly in his hand, and his backpack on his back, and he was staring down at Matteo with something between apathy and irritation on his face.

“Where were you earlier?”

Matteo raised an eyebrow. He tossed the valve oil back in his case before snapping it shut, and stood up and gathered all of his things before turning to face David again and shrugging, letting his eyes drift to the side as he said, “I figured I’d give things a day to chill after...you know.”

“After what?” David asked, with a tilt of his head, and more pointed, forced confusion on his face than Matteo had ever seen. Oh, so that was how it was gonna be.

Matteo smiled back tightly. “You know what, never mind. I’ll be there next time.”

There was a moment where David’s eyes darted down to Matteo’s neck and back up just as quick. His cheeks got a little pink. Matteo smirked.

“Good.” David said simply, and then turned and left. Matteo stared after him, and smirked when he saw David turn again to look at him one more time before almost jogging out of the theater.

Matteo heard a snort from behind him, and he whipped his head around to see Jonas standing there.

“Fuckin’ dick,” he said, tilting his head in the direction of the door, “what was he yelling about this time?”

“Nothing important.” Matteo said, shrugging again, readjusting his grip on his baritone case as they started walking towards the door.

“Is it ever with him?” Jonas joked, elbowing Matteo in the arm, and they both laughed as they left the theater, Jonas waving a goodbye to the people who called out to him. Nobody said anything to Matteo, and he sighed as they made their way down the hall.

“Who knows, man,” Jonas started after a second, pausing and then turning to Matteo with a grin, jabbing him again, “maybe Schreibner is just secretly gay and super jealous of whoever gave you that hickey.”

Matteo snorted, before laughing out loud as they got outside. He shook his head and chuckled when Jonas shot him a confused look.

“I don’t think that’s it.”

*****

The next day that Matteo was meant to meet David, he woke up, and the anxious and dark feeling that settled over him immediately made him want to turn over and go back to sleep. It didn’t have anything to do with David, Matteo knew that, had a diagnosis that proved that, but he couldn’t help the dread that filled him at the thought of sitting in a practice room getting scolded over and over again by the same guy who had given him a hickey the week before.

He lit a joint as he left his place. There were tons of off-campus apartments around his school, and he had managed to get a place with Jonas. It was small, but they had all the rooms they needed, and a balcony attached to Matteo’s room for him to smoke on. It was perfect.

Smoking that day was a bad choice, though. He had gone to band high before, and knew that his fingers would be slower and he wouldn’t be able to focus, but it wouldn’t be any different with the fog filling his head. The only difference was that at least he would be out of it enough to not be bothered by the criticizing.

But by the time he got there, he had almost forgotten that before he had band, he had to see David. He knew it would be obvious he was high, and was preparing himself for whatever David would have to say about it. He was also a little late because he needed to take a minute outside of the building to breath and calm himself down. The weed had done the job of dulling everything coming in, but the anxiety twisting up inside of his gut was still pretty active. He took another shaky breath before pushing into the practice room.

“You’re late.” David said sternly, turning in the seat to glare at Matteo as he shuffled in. Matteo barely acknowledged that he had spoken besides a half shrug until he was settled in his chair, with his baritone set up.

“Bad morning,” he said in a quiet voice, before putting his music on the stand and saying, “let’s just start.”

David went easy on him at first, starting off with one of their simpler songs just to make sure Matteo understood one set of measures that the entire band had been messing up. It didn’t require much complex counting or a lot of movement, so Matteo was playing fine. It was a little further into the session when David switched to a different song, one that Matteo could play most days, but not with his fuzzy brain and fingers that started to shake when David pointed at the measure he wanted Matteo to start with,

He barely got through the first measure before David was cutting him off and telling him to start over, and then stopping him again to count out the beats, and then finally stopping him again when Matteo was playing at a tempo so wrong that he didn’t even know what he was doing.

“Okay, stop, stop,” David said, and he flopped back in his chair with a huff, “what the fuck is going on today?”

“Nothing,” Matteo muttered, leaning back in his chair as well, but crossing his arms over his chest, “I told you, bad morning.”

David turned to stare at him, actually looking at him for the first time he had come in, and Matteo saw understanding dawn on his face before a glare took its place.

“Oh, I get it,” David said, shifting back in his chair, “you’re really trying to get kicked out, aren’t you?”

“No, what the fuck?” Matteo said, shaking his head at the idea.

“So you thought coming in stoned was a good way to keep your spot?”

Matteo froze, before asking quietly, “Are you going to narc?”

David rolled his eyes and snorted, and opened his mouth, before closing it again and leaning back more in his chair. He squinted at Matteo for a second, and then asked, “Why did you do it?”

“What?” Matteo asked, running a hand through his hair, his eyes darting to the side because he hadn’t even thought about what could happen if David told anyone that he had showed up high.

“Get high, before coming here? If you aren’t trying to get kicked out? Did you think it was a good idea?” David seemed almost amused by the conversation.

“None of your fucking business.”

“I kind of think it is, though, if you’re going to be showing up here, at a time that I only agreed to meet at because you need help-”

“Shut the fuck up, you have to be here just as much as I do, in case you forgot,” Matteo snapped, feeling himself losing a bit of the control that he was usually very careful to hold onto, “and if you really need to know, my brain is pretty fucked up and coming here and getting yelled at by you doesn’t help. Shockingly, it makes it worse. So if you’re going to run off and tell the department that I’m high, make sure they know it’s because you’re so unbearable to work with that it’s the only way I can get through it.”

David stared at him, and swallowed, his face unreadable. Matteo took a deep breath and looked down at the ground, his pulse pounding in his ears. He pressed his fingers down on the valves of his baritone as he tried to get his breathing back under control after losing his temper, and with the new panic that was filling him. He was done for. There was no way David would let him get away with all of that, and Matteo knew that the department would not be happy to hear that he showed up to a rehearsal high before screaming at everyone’s favorite.

“Okay,” David said quietly, “I’m sorry.”

Matteo’s head whipped to him. “What?”

“Don’t get me wrong, I’m pissed that you’re high right now,” David said, but his voice was still soft, and he was looking at Matteo with the closest thing to sympathy on his face that Matteo had seen from him, “but brains can suck. And I get that I can be...blunt.”

Matteo snorted. “Blunt, sure.”

“So here’s what we’re gonna do,” David said, and he took his phone out of his pocket and started typing, “have you ever listened to the songs that we’re playing?”

“Well, he played new pieces for us in the beginning of the semester. And I hear them when we play.” Matteo said with a shrug. He had never really been the type to listen to band music. He loved it, and loved playing it, but it already took up so much of his time. When he was listening to music on his own he usually chose stuff that he couldn’t tell you the time signature of.

“Yeah, but sitting in a section of a band and listening to the people around you is really different from hearing it like the audience does,” David said, barely looking up, “we still have some time before rehearsal, so let’s just listen to the songs until it’s time to go. I’ll point out some parts that you’re struggling with so you can hear how you fit into everything else.”

“Oh. Okay. That sounds good.” Matteo said, staring at David in shock as he kept tapping on his phone. After a few seconds, Matteo could hear the run that starts the first song in their program. David raised the volume and set his phone on the stand, and then leaned back in his chair, the corners of his lips turning up as the clarinet came in, playing the solo that David played every class.

“That person played it better,” Matteo said under his breath, a little uncomfortable with how suddenly accommodating David was being. He was sure light teasing was still safe. He smirked at the eyebrow David raised.

They listened to the next couple of songs, David pausing every now and then to point things out or tell Matteo to listen to the part coming up next. Matteo could see his hands twitching on his lap, tapping along to the beat, and sometimes, seemingly without even noticing, his hand would come up and with just a finger he would conduct to the room. Matteo watched until it seemed like David wasn’t paying attention to him anymore, and he leaned back in his own chair, and closed his eyes.

He was still listening, and he continued tapping his foot to the beat of every song that played. As the last note of the last piece played out in the room, Matteo let out the breath he had taken in and held during the final crescendo. He didn’t realize until then that he hadn’t even put away his baritone, the horn just resting in his lap, his hands moving across the brass and pressing down on the valves of their own accord.

“We should probably head out,” Matteo heard, and he opened his eyes slowly, not expecting to meet David’s as quickly as he did. David was staring at him with another unreadable expression, biting his lips as his eyes darted around Matteo’s face, down to his lips, before he bit his own and jumped up from his chair with a, “yeah, we need to be there in ten. Let’s pack up.”

*****

[insert blah blah whatever but then the conductor is like haha later this week im gonna be gone and david is gonna conduct all of you the whole time and matteo is like “lol k” but it actually ends up being fine?? And matteo plays better and david doesnt have to say anything to him and near the end he actually SMILES at him and matteo is like okay oaky….this is kinda nice i like not fighting with this dude also hes STILL SO FUCKING CUTE]

[flash forward to a couple weeks later they're still kinda getting along like they are still constantly teasing and bantering and arguing but its like,, nice and funny and ,maybe flirty??????]

“Why can’t we talk about it?” Matteo asked, finally, snapping his case shut and turning to stare at David’s suddenly stiff back. He heard David’s case zip up after a second, before he turned around, a tight smile on his face.

“Talk about what?” he asked, crossing his arms over his chest in a way that made it obvious he wasn’t pleased.

“Stop acting like it’s fucking crazy that two people who don’t like each other got drunk at a party and hooked up,” Matteo said, rolling his eyes at David’s carefully controlled expression, “just because you’re so busy and important doesn’t mean you have to be boring.”

“I’m not boring,” David hissed, but he flopped back down in his seat and rolled his eyes up to the ceiling before saying, “I don’t want other people in the band finding out. I have a reputation with them, and I know that...I know this would make things weird.”

“If anything they’ll be jealous of me,” Matteo said with a laugh, “as if you don’t know how many of them eye fuck you while you’re conducting.”

“I’m not...oblivious,” David huffed, and Matteo smirked when he saw his cheeks get red as he looked down at the ground, “and that’s not it.”

Matteo tilted his head, trying to figure out what David meant as he looked up from the ground but off to the side, chewing on his lip. Somewhere in the back of his head a thought started brewing, and once he thought it it was impossible not to clear his throat, and take a breath before asking, “Is it because you think I’m bad? Like, a bad player? Do you not want them knowing you hooked up with me?”

“What? Matteo, no,” David looked at him sincerely for the first time since Matteo had started the conversation, and he reached a hand out, and Matteo jumped when it wrapped gently around his wrist, “I don’t think you’re a bad player, and that...that isn’t the problem. You aren’t the problem with this.”

“Then what is?” Matteo asked, exasperated even though he was the one to ask.

“It’s them,” David said, gesturing vaguely out but Matteo could guess he meant their bandmates, “I love them, but do you know how hard it would be to lead a group of people, including lots of people who have hit on me, if they knew I hooked up with the one member of the band that I-”

“That you what?” Matteo asked too quick, excited to hear the answer.

“That they have seen me get angry in the past- perhaps angrier than necessary.” David said calculating and slow, like admitting it hurt him somewhere deep. Matteo kind of hoped it did. After smiling to himself at that he refocused on the point of the conversation.

“Do you really think I’m planning on telling any of them?” he asked, shaking his head in disbelief, “The only other people I talk to besides you are Carlos, Abdi, and Jonas, and I’m not telling them about any of it because I don’t want them giving me shit for any of it.”

“Why do you even want to talk about this?” David asked, looking up and fixing Matteo with a hard stare, “It happened a while ago, and it’s not like we had some romantic fucking moment of reconiliation. We got drunk, we argued, we hooked up, and now we can move on.”

“Well,” Matteo said, licking his lips and shrugging before looking up at David again, knowing that he didn’t really have a reason besides, “I had fun.”

David opened his mouth, and then closed it again, and then opened it again and just went, “Okay?”

“Didn’t you?” Matteo asked, trying for confidence, but coming off as a little desperate with the way he twisted in his seat to make sure he would catch David’s answer.

“I mean…” David started, his cheeks getting darker as his eyes darted around the room, then down to Matteo’s lips and up to his eyes again as he said, “yeah. I did.”

“Yeah, so,” Matteo said, shrugging again, “what’s the big deal if we acknowledge it? It happened, and now we-” he cut himself off, before taking a deep breath and continuing, “and now we see what happens next.”

David’s eyes popped open. Matteo shrugged again before standing and picking his case up, and his bag, and taking a couple of steps to the door. He turned when he heard silence behind him, and saw David frozen in his seat, still staring at him. He stared back for a moment before gesturing out the door and asking, “Are you coming?”

David blinked and nodded, before getting up and gathering his things as well, and he followed Matteo out the door, and they made the short trek to rehearsal.

Matteo felt different sitting down next to his bandmates that day. He was still full of adrenaline, but felt ready to play, quietly humming one of their songs to himself as his fingers pressed down on the associated valves. He couldn’t stop his gaze from flicking to David every few minutes, and he caught David looking back just as Rick walked onto the stage. David coughed and looked away, and Matteo smiled to himself before leaning back in his seat.

He could feel David’s eyes on him throughout the rehearsal, and he was surprised, but it encouraged him to keep sneaking peeks as well. His eyes would wander up from the page even when he was playing just to catch a glimpse of David in his seat, sitting up straight, his strong arms and shoulders holding the clarinet up, his lips wrapped around the mouthpiece-

Matteo was glad he had a lot of rests.

“David! You were supposed to come in there!” Rick yelled suddenly, smacking the score in front of him with his baton, “You’ve never missed that cue before, what’s got you so distracted today?”

The band was silent and they watched David blush as he said, “Sorry, Rick, I’ll focus better. Won’t happen again.”

The conductor just shook his head before telling them to start the piece over, which was followed by angry grumbles and the sound of papers flipping. David looked down at the ground, his cheeks an angry red, and Matteo bit back the smile that threatened to grow on his face.

[david cancels their next private lesson and matteo is like what why and then he gets to band that day and david is conducting again and he basically ignore matteo the entire time and matteo is a lil mad and then after matteo goes up to him and is like “hey wtf why did you cancel on me and then not even correct me when i messed up” and david is like “fuck cause youre super fucknig distracting now and i cant spend an hour alone with you and then get up in front of a group of people and conduct like an idiot cause im too busy thinking about YOU” but hes likes embarassed and actually mad about it and matteo is like oh my god are we going back to the anger i thought we were passed that and davids like well i guess not and matteos like lmao do we need to hook up again cause that seemed like it worked pretty well last time and david is like,, so fucking pissed but is more pissed that hes kind of into that idea so he locks the practice room door and basically they hook up in the practice room because wow what a fantasy that is]

[things are like….weird but chill for a while after that. It seemed like being able to hook up with matteo again made david less distracted by him in a destructive way and even put a bit of a pep in his step?? And matteo notices that hes being a bit nicer to everyone, not just him, and hes actually smiling and complimenting matteo during their private sessions, and even though nothing is explicitly referenced they both know something's going on. Neither of them would call the other a friend though]

[this is after they hook up the third time, which is the first time that isnt completely out of anger but they arent really friends They just happened to run into each other after a concert and were both being a bit flirty and matteo was very boldly like “hey uh come back to my place” because he thinks and david actually does]

“Tell me something about you,” Matteo said, turning his head and propping it up on his arms so he could see David. The light was low in the room, and the plant near his lamp was casting strange shadows on the walls, and on David himself, leaned back against the wall like he was.

“Uh,” David started, his eyes dancing around the room as he tried to think of something, “I started playing the clarinet when I was-”

Matteo reached out and pinched his leg. David twitched, and raised an eyebrow at him. Matteo hoped that David was okay with the fact that he just kept touching him. It was hard to keep his hands away, and he didn’t know David’s comfort level with non-sexual physical contact. So far he seemed more amused than anything else.

“Tell me something not related to music.” Matteo said, and David snorted at the request.

“Why?” He asked, reaching down to push Matteo’s hair out of his eyes. He bit his lip, wishing that David kept his hand on him longer.

“I just think, you know,” Matteo said, hoping he wasn’t pushing it by sliding his hand onto David’s thigh, the same one he had pinched, “might not be the time to to get into that topic. Just in case.”

I don’t want to start arguing when we just had really great sex and we’re like five minutes away from cuddling if I play my cards right, is what Matteo was thinking, but he figured he got the point across.

David hummed, and nodded, the amused smile still on his face, and tilted his head against the wall and said, “Okay, let me think.”

Matteo stared at him, from where the blanket was draped over his lap, up his bare chest, up the angle of his neck, and still found himself blown away at how beautiful he was. He sighed, glad that David wasn’t watching him swoon.

“Okay I got something,” David said suddenly, turning to Matteo, his eyes bright, “so, growing up we had a cat. My sister got to name it because she was older, and she named the cat Martha Jones, after a Doctor Who character. That cat fucking hated me.”

Matteo laughed, but David didn’t look like he was done, so he prompted him with, “And?”

“Years later, I moved in with my sister, and she wants us to get another cat. So, we go to a shelter, and there’s a cage in the back with a sign on it that says ‘Martha Jones’. Completely different cat, but of course my sister says we have to see her.”

Matteo nodded, enthralled.

“So she goes to ask a worker, and this dude says that that cat was a biter, would hiss, and scratched anyone that went near her unless they had food. Laura insisted, because she’s stubborn, so they brought us into a room and the dude basically tossed the cat in with us and closed the door.”

“That doesn’t sound safe.” Matteo said, shifting closer until he was able to rest his head in David’s lap. He couldn't hold back the need any longer, and he was pleased when David started playing with his hair.

“It wasn’t, she immediately scratched me so bad I started bleeding,” David said with a chuckle, “but she chilled out after a bit, my sister was very persistent. After like 20 minutes she was purring in my lap.” David finished with a proud smile down at Matteo.

If Matteo hadn’t already been crushing that would’ve sealed the deal. It did make something soft settle in his chest, and made his hands a little tingly, and he didn’t think twice before asking, “Can I see a picture?”

David looked thrilled at the question, and he leaned over to grab his phone. Matteo watched, biting back a grin as David scrolled through his pictures before settling on one and handing his phone over, obviously excited for Matteo to see.

The first thing Matteo could make out was a metal music stand, the same basic kind he had in his room for practicing, but it was tilted so the tray was lying flat. He grinned at the cat bed that was resting on top of it, and actually awwwed out loud at the pretty calico, splayed out on her back in a sunbeam. The stand was in front of a large window, and Matteo could see plants around it, and he wondered if it was David’s room.

“Yeah,” David said, looking at the picture again himself before putting his phone down. Matteo felt a tug on his hair, and he looked up to see David staring down at him, and he said, “now you.”

“Me? I don’t have any cats to show off,” Matteo said, wrapping his arms around David’s legs so he could squeeze himself closer.

“No, now you have to tell me something about yourself,” David said, rolling his eyes, but his face was softer than Matteo had ever seen it.

“Oh, shit,” Matteo said, not thinking that David was going to turn the conversation on him, and he hummed for a second before saying the first thing he could think of, “well, I like to sing. When I was younger I used to have a vocal coach and everything, now I mostly just sing whenever my roommate isn’t home.”

It wasn’t something he brought up, or really thought about too often, because ultimately the decision for him to stop the training was out of his hands, and he regretted not being able to go farther with it the same way he could with the baritone.

“Why’d you stop?” David asked, his voice soft, as if he could sense the sadness underlying the statement.

“Well,” Matteo said, shifting back a little bit so he could roll onto his back and say it up to the ceiling, “my mom was the one who got me the lessons, I had already been taking them for the baritone for a year or so. My dad got pissed, because I was already singing in the church choir at that point, and he didn’t want singing to distract from my other music shit. When I got older, uh,” he paused to take a breath, “there was a while where my mom wasn’t living with us, so all the singing lessons stopped. I stopped singing at church, too, and, well. I was better at the baritone anyway.”

He hadn’t noticed that while he had been talking, David had slid down more on the bed until he was resting on his side, and he was staring with a concerned look when Matteo turned to him again,

“They have vocal coaches through the school,” David said, an arm inching across the mattress towards Matteo, “you can sign up for one, if you want. I can get you the email of the person who sets them up, I-”

Matteo laughed at David’s eagerness to help, cutting him off, and rolled back over onto his side, surprised at how close he found himself to David. He felt a hand gently sliding onto his hip, and he bit his lip, his eyes meeting David’s, and he leaned in to kiss him.

David didn’t seem to have expected it. He made a sound, and Matteo worried for a moment that he was going to pull away but instead he was pulled in closer, David’s hand sliding onto the small of his back. He pulled away, and David rolled onto his back, his cheeks pink.

“Thanks, but I don’t need any of that,” Matteo said, and he hesitantly let his head drop onto David’s shoulder, and then let his arm drape across his stomach when David tangled their legs together, “it’s just something I do for fun now.”

“For fun,” David repeated, and then took a breath and asked, “since the topic of music is back on the table, do you want to hear a secret?”

Matteo looked up, amused, and then propped his chin on David’s chest so he could see him better, and he said, “Yes, please.”

“So, I can play almost every wind instrument, right? And brass too, and I can figure out percussion pretty quickly. I can pretty much play anything you’ll find in the average wind ensemble, and then some.”

Matteo rolled his eyes, “That’s not a secret.”

“Yeah, but,” David took another breath, and it seemed like it actually pained him to say, “I can’t play anything with fucking strings.”

“Really?” Matteo asked, leaning up a bit more so he could see the hurt on David’s face, and he grinned, and questioned, “not even guitar? Or ukulele? Even I can play those a bit.”

“Nope,” David sulked, “nothing. One time my friend gave me her violin to try and she said I should be banned from ever touching anything with strings again.”

Matteo covered his mouth with his hands to stop the giggles that were threatening to pour out of him. It wasn’t like there was any actual expectation that David was able to play every single instrument that existed, but the shame he seemed to be feeling about his own inability was hilarious.

“Now you have to tell me something else too,” David said, poking Matteo in the cheek, obviously trying to change the subject,

“You offered that information up freely, I don’t have to tell you shit.” Matteo snarked back. He was still reeling from how strange this new dynamic was, and he wanted to push a bit, see what was allowed.

David scrunched his face up before suddenly grabbing Matteo’s wrist and flipping him onto his back, David hovering over him, looking much too pleased with himself. Once he could tell Matteo wasn’t going to try to move he slid his hand off his wrist and down his chest, onto his hip, and blinked his dark eyes slow and said, “Tell me something.”

“I can speak Italian,” Matteo blurted out immediately, unable to resist a hot, mostly naked boy pinning him to his bed.

“Oh yeah?” David asked with a grin, “Fluently?”

“Yeah,” Matteo said, his eyes wide as he stared up at David, “my dad’s from Italy, we spoke it when I was growing up.”

David hummed, still looking down at Matteo with the same cocky smile on his face, and said, “Say something.”

“No,” Matteo refused, and with a sudden burst of confidence he slid his hand onto the back of David’s head and said, “kiss me.”

David’s eyes widened but he smiled, and did as told. The conversation ended there.

*****

A few days later, a weekend, Matteo walked out onto his balcony. It was midday, and he had already eaten and gotten the work done for his academic classes, so he had an unlit joint dangling between his lips. He stretched, and squinted when the sun shone down on him bright enough to hurt his eyes. He dashed back into his room, intent on finding the sunglasses he knew were somewhere, and he saw something balanced against the wall in the corner that made him pause.

It was a ukulele, his ukulele, one that a random family member had gotten him when he was first accepted to the school. It was a bright blue, and Matteo knew that with most instruments a bright color didn’t ensure the best quality, but he didn’t mind because he barely played the thing. It was good enough for the random time every few months where Matteo would decide to teach himself a new song.

He thought back on his conversation with David. He felt the corners of his lips twitch up, remembering David’s pained face when he revealed his secret, and with a small laugh he grabbed the neck of the ukulele and tucked it under his arm. He found his sunglasses on the floor next to his desk, and slid them onto his face before walking back out the door.

He leaned against the railing of the balcony as he lit the joint, smiling around it, and puffing the smoke out his nose. His room faced out to an empty street, across from a bunch of buildings that he was sure nobody had gone inside for years. He liked how private it felt, for the years he had lived there he had only seen a handful of people out there.

Which made it the perfect place for him to pluck out a few random chords on the ukulele without the judgement he usually faced when playing music. He wasn’t good by any means, but he knew enough chords to play enough songs to keep himself occupied. There were even a few times when he and Jonas had played together out there, usually after a few beers or joints when Matteo was feeling less self conscious about giggling as he badly played along with Jonas actually playing his guitar.

He puffed on the joint, his eyes closing under the sunglasses as he started strumming. His fingers had settled naturally on the frets, playing the chords to the last song he had taught himself, one Jonas had played in his car that got stuck in Matteo’s head. He hummed along, but stopped when the joint almost fell out of his mouth. He took a step back, rolled his shoulders, and started playing again.

The joint did fall out of his mouth, tumbling to the ground at Matteo’s feet, thankfully not setting anything on fire, when he heard from the street below him, “Matteo?”

Oh god, he recognized the voice immediately. He bent down to grab the joint and stubbed it out on the ashtray conveniently right next to him, and took a deep breath before peeking over the railing. And he was right about the voice, as David was standing there, a hand over his eyes to shield them from the sun, squinting up at the balcony.

“Uh, yeah,” Matteo called back, lifting a hand to wave awkwardly before realizing that he was still clutching the ukulele, so he set it down, his fingers tight around the neck, “that’s me.”

“Nice shades.” David said, smirking up as he moved his hand from his eyes. The sun was going behind some clouds so the glare was gone, and Matteo lifted the sunglasses from his eyes with a blush.

“What are you doing over here?” Matteo asked, leaning over the edge so he could get a closer look. David had a bike next to him, and a backpack tight on his back, obviously either coming or going from somewhere.

“Oh, well, actually,” David said, digging the toe of his shoe into the ground like he was embarrassed by the question, “I was just taking a shortcut.”

Matteo snorted, and looked down at his arms folded across the railing. He didn’t really know what to say. He wasn’t expecting to see David obviously, and it didn’t seem like David’s answer matched his reaction to the question. He wanted to know what that was about. After an almost awkward silence, just as David’s hand tightened around the handle of his bike, Matteo quickly asked, “Do you want to come up?”

Something about David made Matteo do that a lot, blurt out things that drifted through his head that he wouldn’t usually say without a second more to think about it. He blushed after he asked, looking down at his arms again, not wanting to watch David uncomfortably decline. Sometimes it was hard to remember that they weren’t really supposed to like each other.

“Okay.” David said, confidently, and Matteo’s eyes snapped back down. David was looking up at him with his head tilted, a smile on his face like Matteo’s question was a challenge.

“Oh,” Matteo responded, needing to take a minute to realize that David was actually agreeing, “um, go around the front and I’ll buzz you in?”

David nodded, and hopped on his bike and disappeared around the corner of the building. Matteo let out a breath and rushed into his room, looking around with wide eyes to see what he needed to quickly kick under his bed and shove in his closet. He managed to tidy his room up enough to not be embarrassed by the time the buzzer went off, and Matteo ran to it, not even knowing if Jonas was home but desperately hoping he wasn’t.

He pulled the door open, biting his lip when David came into view, smiling slightly in that cocky way he did. He felt like he would swallow his tongue if he spoke out loud so he waved David into the flat, blushing at the chuckle David let out as he did so, and David bowed his head as he walked in, stepping past Matteo and stopping in the entrance to the main part of the flat.

“We should go chill on your balcony,” David said, looking around like he had never been there before. To be fair, the only time David had been there they were stumbling through the dark to Matteo’s room trying to keep their lips connected, so he didn’t blame him for taking the time to look around in the daylight.

Matteo nodded, and then realizing he hadn’t actually said anything since David came up, cleared his throat and said, “Yeah, sure.”

He led an amused David through his room, pointedly avoiding looking at his bed, his face flushing although he kept his eyes trained forward. David didn’t say anything, or even show in any way that he remembered the fact that just days ago they had been wrapped up in each other in that very same bed, kissing and touching and a lot else. Matteo didn’t know how he was so nonchalant about it when the sight of the bed instantly brought the taste of David’s lips to Matteo’s head, the feeling of his hands on him, Matteo’s hands in his hair. He shook his head and pulled the door to the balcony open harder than he meant to.

He was glad that they had chairs set out on the balcony, ones they had found outside some other building when they first moved in. They didn’t match but they were surprisingly comfortable and most importantly, not broken. Matteo only sat after David had picked a chair, and looked up at him, an amused smile still on his face.

“I should tell you that I lied, earlier.” David said suddenly, after Matteo sat. He looked up, confused, at David’s smile.

“Lied about what?”

“I wasn’t really taking a shortcut.”

Matteo raised an eyebrow, “Oh?”

David nodded, and bent down, digging around in the backpack at his feet. Matteo settled back in his seat to watch until David sprang back up with a book in his hand.

“Don’t tell anyone,” David started, flipping to a page near the end, “but I might sometimes sneak into buildings in a way that isn’t totally...legal.”

Matteo smiled at that, tilting his head, and asked, “For any particular reason, or do you just like the thrill?”

David smiled back, not cocky, and said, “It is pretty thrilling, especially when you get chased out by security guards. But I really do it for this.”

His cheeks got a little rosy when he handed the book over to Matteo, and Matteo’s jaw dropped when he looked down at the page. He was expecting words, but instead there was a sketch done in black pencil, and it took Matteo a minute to piece together what it was.

[idk dude figure out what he drew i guess lmao i dont care enough to try to write this part rn]

“These are… really good,” Matteo said, flipping through the pages. He didn’t really know if David wanted him to but he didn’t try to stop him, so Matteo let his eyes wander over the pages.

“Yeah, well,” David said, sounding a little sheepish, “it’s a hobby, I guess.”

Matteo was quiet as he turned page after page, finding sketches of more abandoned buildings, random people, different plants. A cat popped up a few times, which made Matteo smile, along with the doodles of instruments and staff lines half filled with notes. He didn’t realize how long he had been absorbed in the book until he noticed he was on the second to last page. He stared at the drawing that seemed somewhat familiar, a barely-started portrait, a head with short swooping hair, a button nose, a small smile-

“Okay, um,” David said quickly, his hand darting out to grab at the book, “yeah, a lot of those last ones aren’t finished. Not really that interesting.”

“I thought they were,” Matteo muttered, a little annoyed at being interrupted. He had been enjoying himself.

“I, uh,” David started as he shoved the book back into his bag, “don’t usually show that to people.”

Matteo tilted his head. He had never seen David look less sure of himself. He leaned back in the chair, biting his lip, his eyes avoiding Matteo’s. He seemed almost… shy? Timid? Words that Matteo would never associate with David.

“Well, you should,” Matteo said after a moment of silence, “it sucks that you’re amazing at that too.”

That got a bit of a chuckle, and Matteo grinned at David until their eyes met. There was a beat, and then David looked away again.

“I don’t know,” David said, his cheeks getting pink again, “that’s something I really only do when I need to escape. I just… go somewhere, and draw whatever I can find. I don’t really show people because I’m not doing it for anyone else. Like… you know.”

Matteo had a million questions about what he meant by that, but David had crossed his arms over his chest and looked off to the side after saying it, his jaw set. He let out a long exhale through his nose, and Matteo got the hint that he didn’t want to further dissect that statement.

Matteo leaned back in his chair, quiet, trying to figure out how to turn the conversation back around. He could tell David maybe hadn’t meant to say as much as he did, maybe was a little embarrassed at revealing something so personal. Showing off a picture of his cat a week or so prior was nothing compared to talking about something that he was actively keeping to himself. His escape, from what Matteo knew was a very stressful and hectic life.

He thought for a moment, his eyes darting around the balcony to find something to change the topic, to stop David from looking so uncomfortable. His eyes landed on his ukulele. He paused there, the thought alone making his heart race and something nervous twist up in his stomach, but before he could stop himself he reached out and grabbed it, letting it settle in his arms the way it always did. David didn’t look over until Matteo accidentally twanged one of the strings.

“Um,” he said, when David’s eyes widened and a grin started growing over his face, “I’ll trade you.”

The grin stopped, David tilted his head in confusion and asked, “You’ll trade me what?”

“You told me about what you do that’s just for you, that you don’t usually share with other people,” Matteo strummed, quickly adjusting a couple of the tuning pegs until the sound was just right, “only fair that I do the same.”

“I didn’t think that playing the ukulele was that important to you.”  David said, uncrossing his arms, relaxing back into his chair a bit. The tension was gone from his face, and his lips were curved up at the sides.

“It’s not,” Matteo said with a smirk that looked more confident than he felt, and he took a deep breath before putting his fingers on the frets.

He started strumming the song he had been playing when David showed up, looking down at his hands because he knew he would need to focus on the chords and not on David looking at him. He took another deep breath, tried not to think about it, and started singing.

“There once was a bittersweet man and they called him Lemon Boy….”

Matteo hadn’t considered the lyrics before singing them, just picking a song that was fresh in his head so he wouldn’t embarrass himself by messing up, not that David would have been shocked by that. It was a simple song, pretty, one that he didn’t have to think too hard about. But as he sang it, as the lyrics came out of his mouth less timid with every word, he felt butterflies in his stomach. He got to the chorus, and closed his eyes.

“Lemon Boy and me started to get along, together,” he sang, ignoring the heat he could feel spreading across his cheeks, “I helped him plant his seeds and we'd mow the lawn in bad weather.”

Matteo stumbled on a chord, managed to fix it in a second but he knew David heard it. He continued, though. David had reminded him of that often, not to stop when he made a mistake.

“It’s actually pretty easy being nice to a bitter boy like him...”

He sang the next verse, getting a little sloppy with the chords as he failed to not think about the words he was singing. He got through it, got halfway through the next chorus, and was suddenly cut off when loud classical music started playing from David’s bag. His hands stilled, and he opened his eyes.

It was as if David hadn’t even noticed he stopped, or the sound coming from somewhere near his feet. His eyes were wide, shiny and dark, staring into Matteo’s, leaning forward in his chair like he didn’t want to miss a single word, a single strum of Matteo’s fingers over the strings. His head was tilted, lips parted just enough that a long shaky breath could escape, his hands gripping tight to the arms of the chair. He looked awed by Matteo’s mediocre performance.

David’s gaze snapped down to his bag when the classical music started again, and he whispered an, “Oh, shit,” as he dug through it. He pulled his phone out and Matteo expected him to put it to his ear, assuming the music was a ringtone, but instead he could see it was an alarm that David turned off with a slide of his finger across the screen.

“I was supposed to be home a while ago, I need to, uh,” David cut himself off as he stood, shoving his phone into his pocket and zipping his bag closed before swinging it onto his back, “I have to do my shot today.”

“Oh,” Matteo responded, not understanding what David meant. He wasn’t able to say anything else, like singing had taken the rest of his voice for the day.

“You know, testosterone?” David stuttered out, nervous, as if Matteo didn’t already know he was trans.

“Oh,” Matteo said again, almost smacking himself in the face when he blurted out, “have fun?”

That made David pause, his franticness to leave slowing as a smile grew over his face. He bit his lip, and then to Matteo’s shock, let out a laugh.

“I’ll try my best,” he said, winking. That action alone was enough to have Matteo collapsing back into his chair. David turned towards the door, put one foot back into the apartment, and then stopped before saying, “oh, and Matteo?”

“Yes?” Matteo said, leaning forward again, greedy to hear whatever David was about to say.

“One day I’ll show people my art. Have an exhibit at a museum, maybe.” he said, turning his head so he could look back at Matteo with a soft smile on his face, “but only if I can hire you to sing there.”

Matteo’s jaw dropped, his face turning bright red as David walked through the door. He flopped back in his chair, waited until he could hear the clicks of his door opening and then closing, and let out the breath he had been holding for who knows how long.

[lupinsfavslytherin]

Protective Professor Snape: Part 1

Imagine you entering your 5th year at Hogwarts and rumor has it that there is a new Potions Professor. (You're a Slytherin) On your first day in Professor Snape’s Potion class, you learn quickly that he is very professional and strict when it comes to his job. Most other students think of him as a complete arse. Then again you're not like most students. While they criticize and bully you, you are at the top of your class. That is until Snape assigns loads of ridiculous assignments. The one class, where you are unexceptionally failing.

One month in and you’re studying in the Library. You can’t figure out why your Draught of Death hasn’t been working. A group of Gryffindors barge into the quiet Library, causing a loud ruckus. The librarian tells them to quiet it down. They do only the slightest bit, and sit at the table next to yours. You hear them start judging you; your weight, your hair, and glasses. Anything they find different, they’ll criticize you about it.

Tears start brimming in your eyes, so you gather your materials and head to your bedroom. Shutting your eyes to hold the tears back until you're out of sight, you bump into somebody on your way out. You choke a sobbing apology out to the person, not caring about looking at them. Hearing laughter behind you now, you hurry up. You try to ignore everyone in the halls, just focusing on getting to your bed, safely.

Finally, you reach the dungeons. You turn into the Slytherin common room, and rush through a group of first-years, into your room. Throwing your bag and books aside, you jump under your large-black bed covers. You sob until your throat and eyes are too sore anymore. Just feeling numb you pull your covers down just enough to grab the firewhiskey in your bedside table. You take a couple of swigs, and start collecting all your books again. You begin to study, but on your bed, this time.

Hoping your dorm-mates don’t return anytime soon, you keep out the bottle, finishing it off into the rest of the afternoon. You fall asleep on your work, sleeping through supper. Your dorm-mates, wake you after returning from supper, telling you to go to bed. Following their advice, you clear off your bed, not caring of the mess now laying beside it. You change into your pajamas. You couldn't fall back to sleep, though. You laid awake, seeing everyone else asleep, and you start to feel hungry.

Slipping on some shoes, you stumble your way through the castle and to the Kitchens. You don't see anyone around, so you start snacking on cookies, and a glass of pumpkin juice. Little did you know the new Potions Professor was walking the halls nearby for any students out of bed. You trip as you walk back into the halls, holding more snacks, including some chocolate and more juice. You walk around the corner, coming face to face to Snape. He looks at you and the state you're in. Your running mascara was now dried under your swollen-red eyes.

Now looking at your arms, Professor sees the snacks you’ve taken, pressed against your almost bare chest. Taking his eyes off of you, he only gives you a warning, and that next time there will be punishment. Apologizing and now embarrassed, you continued back to your dorm. You pick up the mess next to your bed to start studying, but can’t get Professor Snape out of your head. He was quite young and handsome enough to be teaching at Hogwarts.

Waking up with all your materials spread out, you look at the time. Crap! Your about to be late to your first lesson. You shove everything into your now overflowing bag, and run down to your Charms class. You don’t see someone stick out their leg, and trip over it, all your things scattering across the floor in front of you. Looking back, you see it was one of the Gryffindors from yesterday. He mumbles something about saying it was your fault he got detention, now. But, you barely register anything else going on, except for gathering your materials. You can cry about it later. Right now, you need to get to class.

Finding yourself in front of the charms classroom, your eyes are blurry from the unshed tears, you keep trying to hold back. Wondering if you even wanted to attend class, anymore. You don’t. Turning around you wander into the girls laboratory. Closing a stall, you allow the tears to fall. Sobbing into your robes, you hear steps coming into the room. You quiet down listening to the girls coming in.

The girls start talking about you, and how they think you're going to end up a hermit; all alone, drinking, with loads of cats, and books. Your sadness turns into anger as you open up the stall, seeing your dorm-mates. They look at you, shocked, seeing you lifting your wand at them. You hex two of them, the last one running off, to probably tell a professor. You couldn’t care less. No one cares about you, why should you care about anyone else? Picking up your stuffed bag, you start to head outside the castle, and down to a willow tree.

You throw your bag to the ground, some of your books falling out. You start practicing non-verbal magic, as you lay down and watch leaves rise and dry out quicker than they’re supposed to. You grab onto one crumbling it into your palm. You then start practicing your patronus. Imagining your parents' faces when you told them you were invited to Hogwarts popped up in your head, but merged when you were placed into Slytherin. They were both so proud of you. Your eyes start blurring, thinking about the muggle car crash that they were in.

You jump forward, waking up to a darker sky. You start to shiver, it being cold outside. You look around, and find that the willow tree is now moving around more than it should. Realizing what tree this was, you petrify it, and notice a hollow at it’s trunk. You know you should head back to the castle but you’re too curious, and use your wand as a light. You crawl into the hole, and fall in deeper. Seeing a complete tunnel, you follow it, surprised to find yourself in the shrieking shack.

You shine your wand towards a piano, and see it’s not too broken. You look around more, and find a king-size bed with drapes hanging around it. Everything is dusty, but still amazing, so you clean up the place as much as you can, and Accio’d new sheets and pillows from your dorm, and fix up the bed. You reach towards your bag around your side, finding it’s not there. Remembering its place under the weeping willow you walk back down the tunnel, and climb up the steps to the hallow. You step out of the hole, and grab your bag and books, taking it back to the shack with you. You open a book on repairing spells and find one for musical instruments. You fix the piano and tune it the best you can, before practicing some songs you remember.

You spent hours in the shack playing piano and repairing lots of furniture that was scattered around the building. You found candles, and placed them around your favorite room. The one with the bed and piano. You discovered a grand bookshelf in the downstairs and cleaned up around that, as well. There were so many books; romance, travel, cooking, old spells, etc. You brought a large chair in between it and a window. Checking the time on your watch, you find it to be three o’clock in the morning. You didn’t feel exhausted at all, though, but did decide to head back to the castle. You blew out the candles, before leaving.

You snuck into the castle, barely making it past filch. You made it to the dungeons but noticed that there was someone in front of the Slytherin door. They turned at the sound of your footsteps. Snape. You blushed at the sight of him, now keeping your eyes on the stone floor. Before he could get any words out, you started apologizing. You lied saying you were in the library studying but lost track of time. You looked at his face to gage his reaction. His face was kinder than usual, but he cocked his left eyebrow up. You looked back down.

Snape excused that but didn’t let me leave, yet. He said that two girls were hexed in the girls laboratory, earlier. You started explaining to him that they were harassing you, but he quickly shut it down. He said that you could have controlled yourself, and not lashed out. He gave you a week of detention after classes everyday, and assigned an essay on emotional responsibility. He didn't yell or say any snide remarks, like he does with most students, though. He walked towards his classroom, as you looked back at him, before heading to your dorm room. Your room was locked. You used the unlocking charm, and quietly made your way to your side of the room. You grabbed all your clothes, and everything that was yours, packing it into a charmed suitcase. This included all your personal books, school papers, shoes, toiletries, etc.

You walked to the nearest girls laboratory, and showered, before heading out of the school again. Walking down to the weeping willow, suitcase-in-hand, you petrified it again. I felt like you were being watched however, and looked around before jumping in the hallow and making your way to the shrieking shack. This would be your new home until you graduated from Hogwarts. Lighting only one candle you unpacked all your clothes into a dresser that you cleaned beforehand. You hopped onto the bed,once finished, and blew out the candle. You fell asleep to the sound of the wind against your newfound home, finally a little happier.

[merakiui]

idol au anon inspired me to send some of my own hcs so here we go~

Xiao is definitely a producer imo! I don’t see him as someone who would want to be up and performing, however he’s probably very popular and sought after in the industry. I think he’d be signed with one of the biggest companies and probably work with really famous groups.

Scara is a soloist (maybe he was in a group but split from them) and has probably had his fair share of scandals in his career due to his attitude and general personality, but I also believe he has his way of getting out of it, mostly because it’s pretty clear that he doesn’t give a damn about what the media thinks. He believes that they should focus on his music (which is top tier btw) rather than him as a person. He doesn’t use this as an excuse to be horrible, though, and I can definitely see him as being the type to take situations on by himself rather than letting the company deal with it. He probably also defends fans and other idols if needed (like if they’re swarmed by an aggressive crowd or being attacked online) and has definitely called out sasaengs on multiple occasions. Another hc is that he takes great pride in producing his own music and concepts so he gets as little help as possible.

Tbh i don’t really see Zhongli being an idol, but he could be the leader of a group. He’d probably be the lead vocalist if that was the case. Otherwise, he could be a manager or even the CEO of a company. Maybe the one Xiao works for?

Childe is DEFINITELY an idol in a group. Often in the center, he’d probably be a vocalist as well and/or main dancer. He’s really popular as well as he interacts with fans all the time and always knows how to create the right mood for whichever song they’re performing. He’s just got the natural charisma for it. I also see him as being an actor on the side. However, he’s also one of the idols where a lot of fans believe that he puts on an front a lot.

Maybe I should actually start writing instead of sending asks all the time whoops...

Omg I hope cookie anon reads this! They were the one who sent in the idol au idea for Scaramouche.

I’ve seen a few modern au concepts where Xiao is a gamer or a twitch streamer. But as an idol I definitely agree with what you wrote. There’s no way he’d get up on a stage and perform in front of so many people. But he does have talent! I think he’d compose a lot of instrumentals for popular bands and groups. He’s probably done some solo work in the past, such as releasing music that captures his edgy aesthetic. If you’ve heard Takayan’s music and lyrics, that might be a genre he typically enjoys. Maybe even the aesthetic that Corpse Husband’s music has.

Scaramouche would definitely love working alone with little to no help at all! He tends to get a lot of fans because of his appearance and music style. Some even fall for his personality, too. But he’s mainly focused on putting out music that he enjoys making. He doesn’t care about the public’s opinion of him, but he does care about his fans. Scaramouche is often very vocal of his disapproval of stans or creepy sasaengs, saying that they can enjoy his music and his personality as an artist but he draws the line when they tweet strange things at him or try to find personal information about him.

I think Scaramouche also puts out some edgy music, too! But it’s nowhere near as edgy or solemn as Xiao’s music. He strikes me as the type who likes to play around with instrumentals a lot and will sometimes release an instrumental he likes, as he doesn’t want to ruin it with lyrics. His lyrics tend to be very meaningful when you look beyond the ‘teenage angst’ and pity parties; and as a result of that his fans like to find the hidden meanings in his lyrics (and occasionally in his PVs if he ends up doing one to go along with a song).

Zhongli is like the emergency member who’ll provide sounds or a few quick chords if the group is having trouble thinking. But I see him as being a manager for one of those idol groups; maybe he often works alongside Xiao, who tends to be put in charge as a spare manager in case one of the idols gets into a scandal. Sometimes Xiao will watch them as a bodyguard (or just moral support) to make sure they don’t stir up more trouble. Looking at Venti ahem.

Speaking of Venti, he is definitely an idol. Either he works with a group or he does it solo. His music genre is usually light and airy, always happy and sweet. Although if you strain to hear specific chord progressions you’ll find that the melody is often on the verge of becoming melancholic. His lyrics are also oddly sentimental, too, and that causes his fans to get emotional when he sings certain songs over a happy beat. Due to the fact that Venti likes to drink, he often gets caught by tabloids and fans when he tries to be sneaky. This leads to a strict scolding from his manager and he usually winds up in Xiao’s company as a result. The two of them seem like strangers at first, due to Xiao’s inability to socialize, but eventually they bond over their mutual love of music.

Childe does have the makings of a perfect idol: attractive face and body, confidence and charisma, and the brightest smile the world’s ever seen. He knows he’s got all of these assets and he uses them to their fullest potential. If he wasn’t an actor, I could see him as a model for specific clothing lines or other brands. Sometimes you’ll see him promote the newest luxury brand and sometimes he’ll be promoting something as simple as toothpaste. Either way, his fans eat it up every time. As a result of his outgoing personality and openness with his fans, he tends to get a lot of stalkers. He’s had to move many times because of this and has even had to stay overnight at his company’s studio because of the sasaengs.

Also, if Childe were an actor on the side I feel like he’d do a lot of comedy skits (think of SNL). I can see him replying to fans on his social media pages and he’s even followed some fan sites because he loves to see them keep up with facts and information about him. He might even correct them if there’s an error, just to avoid any misunderstandings between fans. He’s also the type of idol who doesn’t shy away from the camera, even if it’s sudden. You’ll never catch him off guard because he’s always ready to smile and pose for the paparazzi. Along with this, Childe always welcomes his fans to approach him in public if they recognize him. He loves to take selfies and give out hugs to his fans. If you bring a pen and a sheet of paper, he’ll even sign it for you!

[quazartranslates]

Welcome to the Nightmare Game II - CH16

**This is an edited machine translation. For more information, please [click here]**

[<<< Previous Chapter | Table of Contents | Next Chapter >>>]

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Chapter 16: Journey (First Half) {cw: parent death}

Across the polar ice sheets and mountains and rivers, the aircraft landed in an oasis on the border of the Sea of Tranquility desert. If you continued on, you would enter the domain of the Dragon Ant Queen. This aircraft that didn’t have any loyalty markings could not enter. Her field hung over this desert, and outsiders had to walk through the desert to find the legendary valley and enter her underground kingdom.　

Dozens of tribes, large and small, lived near the valley of the Underground Ant City. They lived in simple grass houses built of reeds and desert poplars, and lived a hard life tending sheep, but they had built luxurious tombs for generation after generation of Dragon Ant Queens.

During the demon invasion over 20 years ago, they survived under the protection of the Dragon Ant Queen. Although tribespeople were killed from time to time in the evil tide every month, they still stubbornly survived and had continued to this day.

The successive Dragon Ant Queens represented the neutral force between the humans and demons. She didn't make enemies with the Holy See, and sometimes even protected human beings, but her identity as a devil makes her position subtle and suspicious. Human beings once feared her, but when the human world was devastated by the wanton invasion of demons, the Underground Ant City she ruled became a land of sin where humans would survive. There, demons coexisted with human beings, and though they were hostile to each other, when the evil tide came every month, they were forced to unite to fight against this test of life and death.

The yellow sand covered the sky, the wind was roaring, and this withered land groaned and sang in despair.

The guard of the Valentines tribe who was on rotation narrowed his eyes. He saw a figure in the swirling yellow sand that was coming towards him. He suspected that he had mistaken the stone forest as a figure and he couldn't help blinking hard, trying to squeeze the sand that captivated his eyes aside. But when he opened his eyes again, the figure was just ahead.

He was wrapped in a white robe against the wind, and the robe was covered with traces of wind and sand. He pulled down his hood and showed a pair of blue eyes, just like the cloudless sky on a hot sunny day.

"Hey friend, where are you from?" asked the brown-skinned Valentine.

Every year, there were always many people who came to the Underground Ant City to seek the Queen’s asylum. When they arrived here, they were often already in a state of hardship, even having no provisions left, only hungry and cold. The kind-hearted people in the tribe would always take out their small amount of food and invite them to have a good meal, and then cheerily show them the way into the Underground Ant City.

The Valentine people shared everything they owned warmly, generously, and happily, even if they lived in this barren land and were poor and strained all their lives.

"I'm from Neverland." He was dusty, hoarse, and pale, but his eyes were firm.

The Valentine stood in awe: "You just crossed the desert? A few days ago, the high priest said that there was a huge storm coming. I was afraid that many people had died. Did you encounter it?"

The traveler nodded: "Lost the camel."

"It's just a camel, at least you haven't lost yourself. This is rare luck to have in the desert." The Valentine said enthusiastically, "Come rest with our tribe. Today is the Bonfire Festival; young girls will come out to dance, we’ll all gather and have fun together, and start again tomorrow morning. The Underground Ant City isn’t far away!"

"Thank you."

The lone traveler rested with the Valentine tribe, and the Valentine guard warmly invited him to have dinner in his home. When the traveler took out the precious spices he carried with him, the guard danced happily and called a dozen neighbors in one breath. They killed a sheep, the man set up a grill, and the woman drew water from the well. Finally, they tasted this delicious roast lamb together without any other fixings, and repeatedly praised the magic of spices. Even the traveler's eagle was given a piece of the delicious roast lamb. It was clever with language and praised the sumptuous dinner, which attracted Valentines’ laughter.

At night, the bonfire was lit in the middle of the village and the tribespeople kept adding firewood to make it burn more brightly. The flaming fire dyed the sky a brilliant red. The old people in the tribe played with rough instruments, while the men and women dressed up and danced around the bonfire. The young girls were shy and waited for the boys to invite them to dance or even propose marriage.

The annual Bonfire Festival was actually a grand collective wedding. The young people in this tribe had no complicated wedding ceremonies. They only needed to invite their favorite girls to dance in front of the bonfire, and take out gifts for their sweetheart after the dance. Once the other party accepted them, their wedding would be completed.

This barren land couldn't support grand weddings, but as long as lovers really love each other, the ceremony is not important.

The traveler looked at the lively dancing from a distance. After taking off his robe, his tall and straight body and handsome appearance could be seen. The girls from the Valentine tribe glanced at him frequently. One bold girl even took the initiative to invite him to dance. She wasn’t annoyed when she was rejected, but ran back happily holding her skirt and whispered to her companions.

The traveler had to sneak away and took his eagle to the stone forest outside the village. Here there was a wind-eroded hill with steep walls, full of wind-eroded boulders and wind-eroded columns. The eagle glided in the night sky while he jumped onto a wind-eroded column several meters high and sat on it, watching the tribe with their glowing bonfire from a distance. Music, laughter, applause, the excitement of this world echoed in this desert, which made people feel excited and eager to walk into bright joy and forget all their troubles and pains.

This excitement reminded travelers of the Twilight Township’s founding day celebrations. On that day, the whole Village of Twilight was also as lively as this. There was only the one day in a year when the sunset would be replaced by a bright starry sky. People would go out of their homes, walk through the streets and have fun, or enjoy fireworks rising from the sea or on the beach, blooming in a beautiful canopy.

On that day when he was still young, and only on that day, his mother would brace herself up from her sickbed, take him by the hand, and take to the streets to watch fireworks on the beach. He sang to her and she always smiled and touched his head to encourage him. Such memories made him sincerely happy.

But this little happiness didn't last forever. Mother's hand was thinner every year. The palm that once wrapped around his could no longer hold him. Instead, his could wrap around her hands—a pair of skinny hands.

Later, she finally couldn't even get out of the house, so on the founding day of each year he didn't go to the beach to watch fireworks, but stayed with her at home. Sometimes she was awake, but sometimes she was asleep. He sat on the floor beside her bed watching the sporadic fireworks from the window, quietly watching them as they bloomed and then extinguished, just like her.

He knew that she was going to leave him, and that there was nothing he could do. He could only pray day after day, asking God to slow down, slow down, don't take away his only relative just yet, don't leave him alone.

But she still left. That year, he was thirteen years old.

After her death, he was sent to the Holy See. Every year, on the Twilight Township’s founding day, he wanted to go back and see it, but he always missed it because of one thing or another. Until one year, he finally took the time to return to the Twilight Township.

But he didn't go to the beach to watch fireworks. He spent it with her at her tombstone.

On the way to the church’s graveyard, crowds flocked to the square and the beach. He walked in secluded alleys and avoided the crowds. Could that joy belong to him? He didn't know, he only felt lonely. For a moment, he even had such a confused thought: At this moment, is Father God watching over this lonely creature?

So he mused in his heart: Please turn to me and have mercy on me, because I am lonely and miserable. Please look after my hardships and sufferings, and forgive all my sins.

Fireworks flew and exploded in the sky. The colourful fireworks attracted screams and laughter from the crowd. He stood in front of her tombstone and looked up.

Every year was so lively, exactly the same as in his childhood memories, but he never had the luck to have a person to watch fireworks with him.

Yes, he did.

He had it.

—What God had prepared for those who loved him was what the eyes had never seen, the ears had never heard, and the heart had never thought of.

It was miraculous and inconceivable, which caused his heart to wander with an oath day and night, but before he could speak it, he was already silenced. Later, the miracle slept in the tree tomb, and the fallen flowers gradually covered his face, but it appeared again and again in his memory. He carefully held this memory and made it accompany him clearly every day.

It was just that he never dared to think about this oath again, because he couldn’t say it anymore. No one could say it anymore.

He also dreamed of him, and each time he lost this heart of his, but even if they met in such a nightmare, it was better than the many nights without dreams. He stayed up all night, accompanied by the bonfire until dawn.

This kind of love was happiness and pain.

It was passionate, but also quiet.

His mind was opened and he was grateful, even if he would willingly spend his whole life in turmoil.

He was grateful for everything in his life.

-----

Editor’s Notes: A small correction: in the earlier chapter where Qi Leren read Ning Zhou’s letter, I had it say “demon tide” rather than “evil tide”. This has now been changed.

-----

[<<< Previous Chapter | Table of Contents | Next Chapter >>>]

[edengarden]

BNHA CONCERT BAND AU BC IM A NERD

IF YOU HAVE ANY QUESTIONS OR REQUESTS OR HEADCANONS AKSJHD PLS ASK ME I LOVE BAND I LOVE MUSIC AND I LOVE THIS-

Izuku Midoriya:

Boy definitely plays a wind instrument. I’m assigning him clarinet

Wants to be first chair so bad, he practices so freaking much I swear

ALWAYS. IN. A. BAND. ROOM. with Iida and Uraraka. They’re always practicing

He’s so confused with music theory, please help him. He just,, WHY is it minor?? WHY IS THERE A SOLO WITH NOTHING WRITTEN?? WHAT DO YOU MEAN HE HAS TO IMPROVISE WITH THE CHORDS WRITTEN OVER THE BARS-

Ochako Uraraka:

ALTO SAXOPHONE-

She’s also comfortable enough to play 2nd or 3rd clarinet if needed, or even soprano saxophone

Doesn’t have her own instrument, she borrows from the school and she HATES the reeds, they’re crap. When someone gives her a good reed, she CHERISHES it.

In jazz band also! With the same instrument, but she doesn’t feel ready for solos so she’s usually 2nd or 3rd. Bro when she has to switch from swing to straight she ALWAYS forgets and it’s the band’s downfall.

Tenya Iida:

TRUMPET TRUMPET TRUMPET TRU-

And he’s one of THOSE trumpet players, by the way.

“Sir the French horns aren’t tuned” yeah, he has perfect pitch

Literally plays flight of the bumblebee as warm up. Or has his own warm up scales. Never practices right before practice though, he thinks it’s “too late” for that

Has his own trumpet, it’s silver with hints of gold/brass. Takes care of it RELIGIOUSLY.

He HATES having to blow out spit onto the floor, but dude what other choice do you have??

Momo Yaoyorozu:

Sweet angel 🥺🥺 she’s an oboe player

Definitely bought her own instrument

Sight reading MASTER. she instantly gets the key bro, it’s so rare that she forgets an incidental

Definitely leads sectionals all the time. And she does it WELL.

When people (*COUGH* BASSES*cough*) slowdown, she’ll sway to the beat in hopes that they’ll follow her

Kyoka Jirou:

Electric bass or contrabass, give her either and she’s good to go dude.

Also has perfect pitch and knows her music theory WAY more than a high school student should know. She’s a genius.

Her warm ups? Jam sessions with Hanta and Todoroki. She just shouts a key and they go. It’s usually jazz, she plays a pretty constant pattern, Todoroki tries to improvise but hanta takes over pretty quick-

Definitely in jazz band as well. Also in a school competition band (like singer and stuff), also a one-woman-band. She’s in so many bands dude.

Shouto Todoroki:

TENOR SAXOPHONE

Also has a background in flute bc his parents wanted him to have ~versatility~

Knows all the theory in his head, like he knows what’s going on, he just doesn’t know how to explain it

*false note* “sorry my instrument isn’t warmed up, it’s probably my reed”

Has plastic reeds. And reeds ESPECIALLY for jazz.

Oh yeah he’s in jazz band! Loves that he’s like, the only tenor saxophone so he gets all the solos

Rikidou Satou:

TUBA PLAYER IN DA HOUUUSSEEE

Buddy actually brings the tuba home to practice, he drags that thing AROUND.

Always. Slows. Down. But no one knows it’s his fault most of the time, they blame Sero-

Firmly believes in the “basses are the foundation of the orchestra” mindset, he’s so proud to be a bass

Kouji Kouda:

Soprano Saxophone, but can also handle clarinet if the need comes (he just loves the sound of soprano sax you guys)

DEFINITELY in jazz band, but as a Tenor Sax 2 bc he knows if he went as a soprano sax he probably would’ve gotten solos

Is it Momo’s oboe?? Is it Kouda’s soprano sax?? No one knows the different except those two and Jirou

Plays Shostakovich’s jazz suite no. 2 as a warm up

DEFINITELY A SWAYER. He just gets into the mood of the music and SWAYS.

Tooru Hagakure:

Flautist!! She chose it as an 11 y/o bc it was a girly instrument but she really likes it lol

A mediocre player, she spends most of warm up with Mina tho, she thinks that she’ll get to warm up when she’s playing bc I mean— no one hears the flutes

Wanted to main the picolo for the sole purpose that it’s an Ear Destroyer. Aizawa heard the mischief in her voice and said no.

Sight reading?? What’s that?? She has no idea what’s going on, she just pretends to play and when she’s comfortable with the melody, she’ll just step in. NEVER notices key changes and signatures.

Yuuga Aoyama:

LASKHDSJ FLAUTIST!! Also clarinetist. He loves being able to stay where he is during practice even though he changes instruments it’s sort of funny

His cheeks get SO SORE when he plays clarinet though and he WILL complain.

“My flute is so heavy!” Kind of guy.

Definitely has his own instruments and takes GREAT care of them.

Wetting his reed with his saliva?? No, he plops it in a glass of water instead (the reeds are definitely his own, and expensive)

Tsuyu Asui:

Trombone gang bro.

Positions are burnt into her brain dude she’ll never go out of tune.

SO SMOOTH. SOOOO SMOOO- dude she plays so well?? It’s never spitty, but during jazz (yes she’s in jazz), if it’s a moody piece she KNOWS how to make it juuussssttt airy enough to be beautiful

Not that good with fast songs, but she makes up for her amazing ass vibrato and her range. GOD-LIKE RANGE.

Mashirao Ojirou:

FRENCH HORN!!!

Omg he plays like a king. And he’s so proud of being the ONLY one playing French horn, but there is PRESSURE, because a French horn is rlly tricky to tune dude. Have you SEEN it??

Always keeps his mouthpiece with him, as if he’s afraid someone will play his instrument?? Like no dude it’s good in it’s case but you do you I guess

He doesn’t stand out that much, but in the majestic pieces where he has a 5 measure solo?? He gives it his all and he pulls it OFF. Those moments are always the highlight of the piece

Mezou Shouji:

Bass clarinet!!

Once he managed to growl through bass clarinet and literally ALL the saxophone players were jealous AS FUCK

Buddy goes to a low E♭ like it’s nothing?? And then he goes up to like a high high C and you’re sitting there like THE FUCKING RANGE-

His warmups are like, quick scales and arpeggios. Bro he’s so steady when he plays and he could play for HOURS. Sore cheeks?? Don’t know her.

He so proud of being a bass clarinetist, but when he saw an octobass clarinet?? Aizawa better order one of those for him RIGHT. NOW.

Fumikage Tokoyami:

Baritone saxophone. Also lowkey really wants to learn bassoon because it’s such an old instrument

SKSKS he and Shouji sit next to each other, Tokoyami loves to read off of Shouji’s partition and create the WORST fourths you’ll ever hear. Even Midoriya told them to shut the fuck up once

In jazz band too!! Still plays bari sax

Such,, a good,, sound. So,, meaty,, and full,, and HOT. Bari sax is HOT!!

Plays moanin’s intro as a warm up. Search up the song. It’s bomb.

He loves to figure out new sounds with his bari sax. The Too Many Zooz type of sounds

Hitoshi Shinsou:

PERCUSSIONIST. Especially loves the bells, timpani, vibraphone and marimba.

He’s in the back judging EVERYONE. It’s so great for him, he gets to stand there and cringe and no one will know

Totally able to play 4 mallets like the king he is

Surprisingly enough, he’s rlly good in music theory. Like he could probably compose or transpose something no problem

Aizawa’s favourite, of course. Will ask him to sit in front while they play and circle the parts where he thinks something sounds off

Now that we’ve talked about the NORMAL band kids, I present to you,,, the gremlin band kids

Mina Ashido:

Percussionist as well!! She loves snares but you’ll see her pick up castagnettes even if y’all are playing something like Gymnopédie no. 3 she’s a bit confused but she got the spirit.

CANNOT READ SHEET MUSIC. Like notes?? No. She can do beats, just not notes. Let Shinsou figure out the ancient languages dude

Her and Hagakure don’t warm up, they just gossip together.

Did this to Bakugou more than once

SHE DROPPED SO MUCH EQUIPMENT LIKE HOW DID SHE NOT BREAK ANYTHING YET??

Denki Kaminari:

TRUMPET.

Buddy AIMS to have his spit land on someone sitting in front of him (rip Todoroki and Uraraka)

Thinks he’s cool because he plays trumpet, but he always loses count. God forbid Iida cant show up to practice because Kaminari will die

“Where are we? What are we doing? Which piece are we doing? Where are we starting?” Oh my god he’s so lost can SOMEONE please help him

Always gets in trouble during band camps dude. He and Sero are the Bad Brass duo

Eijirou Kirishima:

EUPHONIUM BABEY!! He thinks it’s so cool and he’ll get so insulted if someone calls it a “mini tuba”

DONT GIVE HIM SHEET MUSIC IN BASS CLEF HE HATES IT PLS JUST TREBLE CLEF

So!! Protective of his euphonium. His name is Johnny, by the way. He named his instrument.

When they finish practicing a piece, he’s the first to give feedback. Usually it’s good, like praises for classmates he heard and thought were really good!!

He’s so sweet. Willing to help others during practice and sectionals too!! It’s so sad that he’s literally on the other side of the room bc KAMINARI NEEDS HIS HELP-

Katsuki Bakugou:

Hehehe he’s a flautist. I’ve stood by this headcanon for like two years.

And he wants to be THE BEST. You never knew growling could be done through a flute until you met Bakugou.

CANNOT STAND slow pieces. He wants to go all out all the time, he always speeds up when the tempo’s slow.

Also in jazz band with what? Flute. Yeah, this is George Benson Time.

Will hit you with his flute if you ever think badly of him for playing flute. He’ll defend flute ‘till he dies.

Hanta Sero:

TROMBONIST!!! TROMBONE BABEY.

Will be so happy if he’s in charge of bass trombone?? Like yay??

Always wants to hit Bakugou’s head while playing.

Bro his playing style?? You know the like, lazy-ish trombone playing? But it’s just so full and smooth and heavy anyways? That type of shit.

In jazz band, he’s actually a natural at jazz, doesn’t practice that much so he’s like not even in a good position, buddy just slouches and sight reads.

I love Hanta sm guys I could talk abt trombonist!Hanta forever

[im-a-writer-sometimes]

Found Home

Pairing: Spencer Reid x reader

Word count: 5k

Warnings: violence, death, language

Description: After sisters in your sorority are murdered, the BAU comes to investigate, along with an awkwardly handsome doctor who catches your attention.

A/N: Yo, yo, yo, it’s the first fanfic since I started college. Finals week is really getting to me y’all. I needed some Spencer Reid in my life.

---

Reid and Morgan approached the Georgetown University sorority house, Morgan knocking while Reid lagged a bit behind. One of the sisters opened up and let them in, and Reid’s ears perked up as soon as he caught the sound of a piano being played in the next room over. Based on the tempo and pattern, it sounded like a sonata. He was shocked that he didn’t know who had composed it; he had studied enough classical music to recognize most composers. It sounded like a mixture of Beethoven and Tchaikovsky, soft and sweet and slightly dissonant.

As Morgan questioned the girl he peeked his head around the doorway to see another sister sitting at the piano, completely engrossed. Occasionally, she would pause, making hasty marks on the messy paper in front of her. His eyebrows raised, realizing there was a reason he didn’t recognize the composer. She was sitting just a room over.

“Reid?”

Morgan’s voice pulled him out of his thoughts and he refocused.

“Yeah, what’s up?”

Morgan just shook his head.

“All the sisters are here, so we’re going to question them one at a time. Alright?”

Reid nodded.

“Y/N is in the next room if you want to start with her,” the sister who had let them in commented, pointing in the general direction of the pianist. Reid smiled slightly at hearing her name. Now he could say he knew who had composed that song.

Morgan just nodded, making his way over to the girl at the piano.

“Y/N?” He asked and she looked up from the keys, smiling at him warily.

“You’re with the FBI, I presume?”

Morgan nodded.

“Mind if we ask you a few questions?”

“Are you a music major?” Reid blurted out.

“Yes,” she confirmed.

“Right, well, about Jaylee. When did you see her last?” Morgan asked, pulling out his notepad.

“How long have you been composing?” Reid interrupted before she could respond.

“A few years now,” she answered with a quirk of her brow, confused but slightly entertained.

“Reid, how about you let me ask the questions?” Morgan asked, raising his eyebrows at the young doctor.

Reid nodded, focusing instead on the messy hand-written sheet music sitting on the piano stand. It was covered in smudges and eraser marks, signs of a frantically creative mind. He smiled, the staff paper reminding him of the messy journals he kept. He wanted to hear her play her creation, but Morgan was busy questioning her. He eyed the notes, trying to imagine what it would sound like in his head, but sight reading was something he had never fully mastered. It took a musical ear he wasn’t lucky enough to have.

He looked back at Y/N, who was explaining her relationship to the latest victim. 

“We rushed together, but we never really grew close. I mean, we live… or lived in the same house, but we weren’t the best of friends.”

“Was there any animosity between the two of you?”

She shook her head.

“There wasn’t even an opportunity for animosity. We live on separate ends of the house, we don’t have any classes together.”

“Alright, well, thank you for your time. We’ll let you know if we need anything else from you.”

She nodded, turning back to the keys as Morgan stood. Reid remained seated, hesitant to follow his fellow agent.

“Can you play it for me?” He asked out of the blue, almost, almost regretting it as soon as the words left his mouth.

“What?” She asked, looking at him in confusion.

He nodded towards the sheet music. “The song you’re working on.”

She smiled shyly. “It’s not really finished, but I’ll play what I have.”

Reid smiled and held his breath as he waited for her to begin. He didn’t notice that Morgan had already left, gone to question more witnesses. Her fingers hit the first notes, wistful and high. The melody sank lower, growing more concrete as she added the bass. Her left hand kept a steady rhythm as her right hand flowed through an elegant melody, sad and reminiscent of something he couldn’t quite place. She was completely engrossed, eyes closed, as if her hands knew exactly what to do. She was only there to witness the music they were creating. Reid watched her in complete fascination as she played, the music flowing out of her seamlessly. Her instrument became an extension of her body, there was nothing between her and the keys. And then it ended on an unstable chord, quiet and unsure.

She opened her eyes slowly, looking at him meekly.

“That was… amazing. I’ve never heard anything quite like it.”

She grinned, eyes crinkling. “Thank you. I don’t really know where else to go with it. It’s a work in progress.”

“I’ve always loved music. You know, music theory is math at its core.”

“I do know,” she laughed. “But, it’s pretty math you can listen to.”

He laughed. “I guess it is.”

“Math gives us all the rules for music so us composers can break them.”

She grinned as she spoke, and he decided he loved the sight of her smile.

“I’m Spencer, by the way. Reid. Dr. Spencer Reid.” He found himself stumbling over his words and he shook his head inwardly.

“Y/N Y/L/N. Pleasure to meet you, Dr. Reid. Do you play?” she asked.

“A little,” he admitted. She scooted over on the bench, patting the seat next to her.

He laughed again, shaking his head. “No, no. Not after you just did that.”

“Oh, c’mon. Please?”

“Reid!” Morgan called, peeking his head through the doorway. “Time to go.”

“Maybe another time,” he said regretfully, and she nodded. He got up, following Morgan out the door with the sound of her song still echoing in his head.

---

Reid was thrilled to be going back to Y/N’s house, hoping she’d be there, sitting at the piano, composing something beautiful. Of course, he was going back because there was another murder, but the reason didn’t seem to bother him all that much.

He was disappointed when he entered, the house void of music. He peeked around the doorway to the living room, heart sinking slightly at the sight of the empty piano bench.

“We suggest you guys find somewhere else to stay,” Morgan said, catching Reid’s attention.

“Not all of us have somewhere else to go,” the sister, Bailey, he remembered, commented.

“I strongly suggest you all find somewhere.”

“Is that really the wisest course of action?” Reid commented, catching Morgan off guard.

“Do tell,” Morgan sighed.

“Well, if they’re all in different places, they’ll be harder to protect individually. But if they all remain here, it would be easier to protect them. Otherwise, the unsub could pick them off one by one.”

Bailey looked slightly unnerved by his words, but Morgan nodded, seeing the logic in his argument.

“I take it back. You all need to stay here,” Morgan corrected.

Bailey nodded. “I��ll let the girls know. Can we still go to class?”

“For now. But go in groups and never be out at night.”

“What if we have a night class?” 

The three of them looked up to see Y/N descending the stairs.

“Then ski--” Morgan started, but Reid cut in.

“Then you’ll need someone to escort you!”

Morgan looked at Reid with raised brows. He glanced between the doctor and the girl and put two and two together fairly quickly.

“And who would do that?” Morgan asked, already knowing the answer.

“I could,” Reid affirmed. “I’d been meaning to learn the layout of the campus anyway.”

Morgan held back an eye roll, knowing Reid had already memorized a map of the campus days ago.

“Alright then,” Y/N smiled. “I leave at 5:50 on Monday and class gets out at 9:00 at Finley Hall.”

“I’ll be there,” Reid confirmed with an awkward thumbs up. Morgan choked back a laugh.

“Alright, stay safe. We’ll be in touch.”

---

Reid arrived at the sorority house at 5:50 on the dot. It wasn’t completely dark yet; meek rays of sunshine were still peeking over the horizon. However, in a few minutes it would be pitch black.

Y/N opened the door when he knocked, smile on her lips and backpack slung over her shoulder. And off they went; Y/N leading the way.

“So what class are we heading to?” He asked.

“History of Music Composition,” she answered.

“Do you mind if I sit in?” He asked, tentatively.

She nodded. “It’s a big class. The professor probably wouldn’t even notice.”

The rest of the walk was quiet. Not an awkward quiet; a comfortable, familiar quiet. They arrived at an older building he knew was Finley Hall and she pushed through the doors, ascending a winding staircase to the third floor. When they entered the classroom, she found two seats near the back, pulling out a notebook as she sat down. He smiled as she opened it; the notes were messily scrawled and along the margins were lazily drawn doodles of flowers and music notes.

The professor arrived at 6:00 on the dot and began teaching immediately. Y/N didn’t seem completely focused, occasionally jotting down important points, but mainly scribbling on her notebook paper. When he heard the professor mention Beethoven, he turned to Y/N.

“Did you know,” he asked, Y/N perking up at his voice. “That Beethoven went deaf at a fairly early age. In fact, when he was conducting at one of his concerts, a chorus member had to--”

“Turn him around at the end so he could see the audience giving him a standing ovation, yes I know,” She laughed. “I’m a music major, Dr. Reid.”

He blushed, scratching the back of his neck. “Sorry.”

“No, it’s fine. I love that story.”

He smiled at her as she refocused on what the professor was saying. She continued to aimlessly scribble in her notebook and Reid realized she was distracted. He had never asked how she was doing with all the murders.

“How are you holding up?” He whispered. “With all that’s going on?”

She didn’t look up from her scribbling as she answered.

“I guess as well as I can.” She let out a shaky breath. “I’m scared,” she admitted, looking up at him.

He nodded. “That’s completely normal. But don’t worry, the BAU is getting closer and closer to the unsub, and there is 24 hour protection around the house.”

“I know that, but it doesn’t make me feel any better. It’s like, if this maniac is so set on killing us, I feel like he’ll find a way. No matter how many cops and agents are stationed outside. I know that seems irrational, but--”

“No,” he assured. “It’s not. There is no one way people feel in your situation.”

She smiled at him sadly, doing her best to focus for the rest of class.

He watched her profile with wary eyes, not knowing what to say to make her feel safe. Maybe there wasn’t anything he could say. He sighed, deciding he might as well listen to the professor spew out information he already knew.

---

They arrived back at the house, filtering through the line of agents outside the door. He bade her goodbye, about to walk away when she stopped him.

“That piece I played you the other day,” she said. “I finished it. Would you like to… to um, hear it?” She seemed so unsure, but Reid just smiled and nodded. He followed her inside as she dropped her backpack by the piano. She sat down, patting the spot next to her on the bench. Reid hesitantly sat down, sucking in a breath at how close they were.

And then she began playing, with the same passion as before. The beginning was familiar, but once she reached that quiet and unsure chord, she continued on, the melody growing louder and more firm as she did. He watched her profile as she played, her tongue sticking out of the side of her mouth in concentration. All of the sudden the song grew softer, as she tickled the higher keys, reaching past him to do so. And then it ended, quiet, but confident. She looked at him, wide eyed, waiting for his reaction.

“That was absolutely beautiful,” he breathed. He noticed her eyes flicker down to his lips and he did the same. They were already so close, but she leaned even closer. He found himself closing his eyes, heart racing in anticipation. Just before their lips met, a scream ripped through the house.

They both jumped, pulling away immediately. Reid reached for his gun before running in the direction of the scream.

“Stay here,” he told her as he ran.

He rushed up the stairs, followed by agents pushing in from outside. He saw one of the doors ajar, and kicked it the rest of the way open, seeing a girl he didn’t recognize kneeling over a body. He recognized the body as Bailey’s and he lowered his gun. Shit. He was too late.

He turned to speak to the agents behind him when he saw Y/N who had followed him up despite his direct order to do the exact opposite. Her eyes were wide and brimming with tears as she stared at the lifeless body of her friend. Her hand flew to cover her mouth as a sob wracked through her body.

She looked past the dead girl and Reid followed her gaze, catching sight of the open window. He rushed past the body, looking through the window in a vain attempt to catch sight of the unsub.

“Have agents follow several trails leading away from this window,” he told the agents waiting by the door. “Now!”

They rushed to do as he ordered, leaving just him, the girl who had found Bailey, and Y/N, still unmoving. His eyes softened at the sight of her. He made his way back to her, placing a tentative hand on her shoulder. She did even look up, seemingly unaware of his presence. 

“Let’s get you downstairs, okay?” He said, softly. She nodded slowly, eyes never leaving Bailey’s corpse. “The Forensics team should be here any minute.”

He led her downstairs, beckoning for the girl who had found Bailey to follow. Agents passed them as they descended the stairs, and Y/N turned, watching them enter Bailey’s room. He took the both of them outside, his eyes finding Morgan, Rossi, and JJ in the crowd.

“I thought you said we’d be safe here.” He turned back to look at her at her quiet voice, her eyes wide with unfiltered fear and horror.

He opened his mouth to speak, but he didn’t know what to say. He just looked at her with sympathetic eyes as she waited for some kind of explanation. An EMT passed by and he stopped them.

“She’s in shock,” he told her, and the EMT nodded, placing her arms on Y/N’s shoulders and leading her to sit down on the back of an ambulance, wrapping a blanket around her shaking form.

“Do you know what the hell happened?” Morgan asked as he, Rossi, and JJ approached. 

“No,” he shook his head. “One minute it was quiet, the next I heard a scream and ran upstairs. Some girl found Bailey’s body. I’m not sure how long she’s been dead, but the window to her room was open.”

Morgan was about to speak, when a sister interrupted them.

“Excuse me, I don’t know if this helps, but I know Bailey was planning on sneaking a guy into the house. She was mad we weren’t allowed to have guys over, so she was planning on sneaking someone in through the window.”

“Do you know who?” JJ asked.

“No, she didn’t have a boyfriend. Just a bunch of flings.”

“Do you know any of their names?” Rossi prodded.

The girl nodded and JJ stepped aside with her, pulling out a notebook.

“Mini-Beethoven over there seems pretty shook up,” Morgan commented, eyes landing on Y/N’s still shaking form.

“Yeah, she followed me upstairs and saw the body.”

Morgan nodded, looking between the doctor and the pianist. 

“What were you doing in the house?” he asked, arms crossed. “I thought you were just escorting her to and from class.”

Reid raised his brows at his colleague’s question, groping for an answer. “Well, she… um, she… invited me in, because… she finished… the song, that song she showed me when we first… you know… and she um, finished it… and she wanted to show me and I wanted to hear and so, um… yeah, she showed me her song… and that was it, just that thing, all that happened.”

Rossi and Morgan peered at each other, grinning.

“Does Reid have a crush?” Morgan asked, playfully shoving the doctor.

“No, just an appreciation,” he assured. “She’s an excellent composer.”

“Sound like a crush to me, does that sound like a crush to you?” He asked, looking at Rossi.

“Certainly does,” the older man said, smiling.

“Shouldn’t we be focusing on the case?” Reid asked, scratching the back of his neck.

“Whatever you say, Romeo.”

---

The were so close. They had the description of the unsub down, and units were looking for him throughout the DC area. Occasionally, through the bustle of the case, Reid found his mind drifting back to Y/N, who was practically locked inside the house where her friends had been murdered. He hadn’t seen her since Bailey’s death. The case hadn’t required him to, but he wanted to make sure she was okay. Statistics would say she would still be processing so soon after a traumatic experience, but he wanted to find out for himself. At the same time, he needed to find this unsub. So he didn’t go to see her. Instead, he focused on the case so she could get back on with her life.

---

The last few days had been trying for Y/N. Her friend was ruthlessly murdered and she was forced to remain on the scene of the crime. They had doubled security, so there was no leaving and no one was allowed in. She spent most of her days at the piano, composing angry and confused and resentful melodies. Her piano was the only thing keeping her clinging to her sanity.

She was in the middle of composing when gunshots echoed down the street. She instantly stood, eyes finding the officer standing guard in the foyer.

“What was that?” she asked.

“I’m not sure, ma’am. The officers outside will take care of it, I’m sure.”

More gunshots fired, followed by a scream, this time a little closer.

One of her sisters flew down the stairs to ask the officer the same question she had posed seconds ago. He gave the same answer. A few other girls made their way down the steps timidly.

And then there was heavy pounding on the door. 

All of them jumped, the girls looking to the officer who looked just as shocked.

“Go upstairs,” he ordered. “Now!”

Y/N didn’t hesitate to follow her sisters up the stairs, locking herself in her room. She backed away from the door slowly, chest heaving as the banging on the front door continued just downstairs. She wanted to cry, but the tears didn’t come. Her heart pounded with a level of fear she had never experienced before.

She kept backing away until she bumped into something, no someone, and then a hand clamped over her mouth.

“Don’t try anything,” a husky voice whispered in her ear and she whimpered as she felt the cool metal of a gun pressed against her temple.

---

The team rushed to the house as soon as they got the call. Spencer hoped Y/N wasn’t there, although he knew that she most definitely was. Several officers were down, over a dozen injured. No one knew how, but he didn’t care. He needed to get to the house before anything else happened. 

They pulled into the driveway and Spencer rushed out before they came to a complete stop.

“What do we know?” he asked an officer standing idly in the yard. The officer didn’t respond, he just pointed up at the balcony. Reid followed the direction of his finger and his heart stopped. There on the balcony was a man in a ski mask holding a gun to the temple of a shaking girl. Not just any girl. Y/N. 

He looked down to see a man with the word “Negotiator” printed on his vest speaking into a bullhorn. The unsub occasionally shouted down at the man, but he wasn’t budging.

He focused his gaze back on Y/N, who’s eyes had found him in the crowd. Tears were streaming freely down her cheeks. She looked at him with pleading eyes, knowing deep down that there was nothing he could do.

“Have we tried getting in?” he asked the officer next to him.

“There’s more than one of them,” he answered. “They’ve blocked off all the doors. The second we enter, she dies.”

“Well, then what the hell are we doing to stop this?” Reid practically screamed at the officer, catching the attention of those around him.

“Just leave and no one else gets hurt,” he heard the unsub call down to the negotiator. “You hear me? I’m starting the countdown now. If all of you aren’t gone in the next ten minutes, this bitch bites the dust.”

He watched as Y/N closed her eyes at his words, taking in a shaky breath.

“What do you want?”

“To make these ungrateful whores pay,” he spat back.

Y/N choked on a sob and the unsub pressed the gun to her temple even harder, forcing her head into an awkward angle.

“We can’t let you do that,” the negotiator said. “Just let them go and we can talk it out, alright?”

The unsub shook his head.

“I’ve given you my terms. Clear out or else they’ll all die. I fucking swear it.”

“What did they do to deserve this?” The negotiator called up, clearly trying to stall.

“These bitches think they’re better than us, don’t you?” He said, aiming the last part at Y/N. “It’s about time they learned that they’re nothing more than stuck-up, mindless sluts.”

Spencer turned to look at his colleagues for any kind of idea. They were all empty-handed.

He turned back around just in time to see Y/N lift her foot to kick him in the crotch. The unsub immediately curled into himself, loosening his grip on Y/N. She took this opportunity to run back into the house. However, before she made it inside, the unsub grabbed hold of her ankle, effectively toppling her to the ground. She kicked at him, but he dragged her back onto the balcony. Spencer watched in horror as picked her up in a fit of anger, tossing her over the side of the balcony like a rag doll. He ran towards her, but slowed when he saw an agent catch her before she hit the ground. He let out a breath, jogging the rest of the way to her.

The agent who had caught her set her gently on the ground, her legs shaking. Spencer was there immediately, holding her up.

“Are you okay? Are you hurt?” He asked, scanning her for injuries.

She didn’t respond, she just wrapped her arms around his torso, burying her face into his chest. He hugged her back instantly, holding her as she sobbed into his shirt. Neither of them noticed the unsubs being dragged out of the house in cuffs a few minutes later, or the frightened women that filtered out the front door after them. Y/N held onto Spencer for dear life, and he let her.

---

A week had passed since the unsubs had been arrested. It had been a group of delusional students who had been rejected by women in the sorority at one time or another. She remembered one of them, the one who had held her at gunpoint. He was a bit of an eccentric kid. He had asked her out at a party shortly after she had split with her ex and she politely declined. She hadn’t thought twice about it. But now she saw his face on the news nearly every night. And she kept imagining the clammy hand clamped over her mouth and the cold barrel pressed against her temple.

She hadn’t returned to the house since it happened. Or seen any of her sisters. The only thing that remained in her life was Spencer. She had been taken to the hospital that night for some minor injuries and Spencer had accompanied her. He had stayed with her, holding her hand, when a psych team came in for an evaluation while she lay in her hospital bed. He helped her move in with her friend, returning to the house to get her stuff so she wouldn’t have to. He even hauled her stand-up piano half-way across town. 

It was hard to pick up where they left off before they found Bailey dead. The image of his lips nearly ghosting over hers remained in her head, but she wasn’t ready to dive into anything like that quite yet. However, she still saw Spencer. He came to check on her after work every now and then. Or stopped by after he flew back into DC from a mission. 

It wasn’t until a month later, when she met him at a coffee shop down the street from the capitol building, that they finally started back up. He asked her to dinner. And not just any dinner. A fancy, five-star restaurant kind of dinner. She happily accepted and now she was scurrying around her room frantically, trying to piece together an outfit.

“Does gold or silver go better with maroon?” She asked her roommate who was sitting on her bed, scrolling through her phone.

“Uh… silver?” She responded, not even looking up.

“Or maybe I should go with the green dress,” Y/N sighed, looking at her reflection in the mirror.

“Would you stop worrying?” Her roommate laughed. “This guy is obviously head over heels for you. You could show up in a potato sack and he would still swoon.”

“That doesn’t help me pick out an outfit, Macey.” 

Her roommate rolled her eyes before standing up and heading to Y/N’s closet. She pulled out a dark blue dress, tossing it to Y/N.

“Wear that with your silver necklace.”

Y/N held up the dress to her torso, looking in the mirror before nodding to herself.

She was about to change when a knock sounded at the door.

“What? He’s ten minutes early! Can you go answer the door and tell him I’ll be out in a minute?”

“Of course,” Macey laughed, heading to the front hallway.

“Hello, Dr. Reid,” she greeted as she opened the door, seeing Spencer decked out in slacks and a sports jacket. “Don’t you look adorable.”

“Thanks, Macey. Is Y/N ready?” He asked, wringing his hands anxiously.

“Almost. You can wait for her inside.”

Spencer nodded, stepping inside the apartment he had been in countless times. This time it felt different, though. He sat down on the couch, letting out a shaky breath as he waited for Y/N. 

When she finally emerged from her room, he stood abruptly. He opened his mouth to speak, but the words caught in his throat.

“Are you ready?” She asked, grabbing the clutch sitting on the counter.

He nodded, eyes never leaving her.

“You look…”

She raised her eyebrows, waiting for him to finish.

“Stunning,” he finally managed, and her face melted into a smile.

“Why, thank you. You don’t look too bad yourself.”

She took his arm as they left, waving goodbye to Macey as they shut the door.

The ride to the restaurant was quiet, but a good quiet. He sat beside her, eyes never leaving her face. He couldn’t believe how lucky he was.

Dinner was excellent. The food was amazing, and the company was even better.

Spencer walked her to her door at the end of the night, hands shoved in his pockets awkwardly.

“I had a really nice time,” she said, opening her clutch for her keys.

“Me too,” Spencer agreed.

“We should do it again sometime,” she chuckled.

“Me too,” Spencer said, realizing his words made no sense. She just laughed.

“Am I making the Dr. Spencer Reid nervous?”

“You have no idea,” he breathed out. His eyes flicked down to her lips and he let out a shaky breath. “Can I--can we… could we… do you--”

He was cut off by her lips pressing against his. He quickly melted into the kiss, arms wrapping around her waist as her hands found home on his cheeks.

They pulled away all too soon, foreheads resting against each other.

“Goodnight, Dr. Reid,” she whispered, pressing one final kiss to his lips before disappearing inside.

Spencer let out a breath, a smile creeping onto his lips. He strolled down her driveway, hands in his pockets as he made his way back to his apartment. He had no idea how he got so lucky.

[bonesofapoet]

ABANDONED VALOR

[frank castle x musician!reader]

author’s note: one of those 'i didn't want you to see me like this, but here we are anyway." things, in which our beloved musician!reader figures out who frank castle Really Is. we all knew i would come back to them eventually. implied violence, blood/injury, Feelings.

word count: 1394

ao3: here

Almost every morning, he woke from a dream.

It wasn’t always the same dream – rarely was it, actually – but the themes were the same, the plot was similar, and he always felt like he’d been shot in the chest, in the stomach, in the heart.

Dreaming about you – that only meant he had gotten too close, is all.

Fuck.

August melted seamlessly into September, the nights growing colder, longer, darker. Summertime sadness drifted off over the sea into the Southern Hemisphere, and that occasional Winter Depression dipped it’s toes in it’s cousin’s place, ready to fill those shoes when the time felt right.

Frank Castle felt the chill of the wind tickle the tips of his ears, tugged the worn leather jacket closer to his body with his hands buried in the pockets. You were walking beside him, arm carelessly, casually, looped through his. He kept eye contact with you scarce, only glanced at you from the corner of his always alert, always on edge gaze.

He had a job to handle that night, and he wasn’t about to let you be caught in the middle of it.

Frank held your old, sticker covered guitar case while you unlocked the door to your apartment building. He reminisced silently over the familiar weight, the familiar feel of having an instrument he loved in his hands for the first time in months, years, eons. He almost forgot what doing something for joy was like, then wondered if that’s why he hadn’t jumped town yet; left without saying goodbye.

Your apartment was very you, the signs you just played a gig prevalent in the organized chaos that overtook the most prominent spaces of your place. Sheets of music scattered on this table, open notes here, lyrics scrawled on scraps of paper there. Empty guitar stands, small holes in the decor void of practice amps and effects pedals. The equipment that belonged in those voids stayed with your band for the night; all you needed was your acoustic and the man who had breathed fresh life into your lungs.

Ars longa, vita brevis you said, when he commented on the way your music worked it’s way into your apartment decor. ‘Art is long, life is short.’ Art doesn’t wait for organization. When inspiration is there. . . it doesn’t wait until you’re primed and ready for pretty note taking. It comes in messy waves and late night dreams; it follows me home on the train when all I have is my phone recorder and a shitty Starbucks napkin.

Fair enough, he answered, lips tilted in that almost-smile, the one that made your heart beat fast against your rib cage. Frank respected the shit out of your artistry, your undying commitment to it – this was not an easy thing to chase, as a hobby or professionally.

God, he fucking missed playing music.

He waited until you were fast asleep, the movie still flickered soft neon colors in the darkness when he slipped out the front door and let himself out.

He wanted nothing more than to stay with you, just for one night. And maybe he should have, because he fucking hated that he came back instead of sticking to protocol, instead of going back to his apartment where no one could trace him back to you.

Whispered curses, heavy footfalls, soft thuds of jostled furniture. The noise of Frank’s return was careful, quiet, controlled. He wasn’t loud enough to pull you away from dreams being dreamt, but you never slept when Frank slipped out into the night. Never dreamed. It was a lazy doze at best, part of your soul reaching out to the soft embrace of a healing sleep, the other clawing for every part of the world to keep awake.

You found him in the bathroom, door half closed with the sink rinsing away the gore from his hands, then freeing it from his face. It was like a second skin, the way shades of red clung to him in varying stages. Rain slick freshness, also tough, dried, aged.

Wide eyes met guarded ones in the mirror’s reflection under the harsh, bright light. The early stages of a black eye began to blossom over Frank’s right eye, and you tensed – he didn’t miss the way you stopped short, the way words died right there in your throat, before they ever left your lips.

Your heart constricted once, twice, thrice – when your eyes finally adjusted from leaving the dark. Knuckles bright red, deep blue, swollen and raw from constant use. An arm cried crimson, begging for anything to stop the tears. Tender ribs, plum colored bruises blossomed the length of his side, around his jaw. That, too, had already begun to swell. He wore the beautiful colors of a sunset on his skin, though instead of being inspired, he threatened to break your heart and paint the tile floor with the rising tides of emotion.

This man with night blooming gardens for armor, for bones, for a life. It was breathtaking, nonetheless.

“Let me,” you said, voice quiet in strained silence. Tentative fingers closed around his shaking hand, took hold of the alcohol ready to kiss his injuries clean.

The fresh thrum of adrenaline went ignored as you worked, slow and efficient. Every time he hissed in pain, clenched hands around the counter top to keep from flinching – the deep ache in your soul flared something bright and fierce and ruthless.

What remained of the night passed primarily without conversation. The occasional questions left your lips, and Frank refused to lie to you. He knew you deserved better than this, than him, than everything his life entailed – but he was not going to poison what little solid ground this – whatever this was – had found by candy coating truths.

When the sky began to deliver the safety of daybreak, he was finally able to meet your eyes without fear. The blue hour was in it’s prime, dripped fresh, thick emotion heightened by a sleepless night. The contrast of his broken body to the regret that made home in his eyes – well.

This sure as shit was not what you signed up for.

“At least,” you spoke, unsure of so many things – unsure of what he expected you to say, after making it quite clear that no, I’m not going to throw you out, and yes, this isn’t ideal, but I knew, Frank. I knew there was something more to you. I knew it wasn’t conventional when you dodged my questions about what you do for a living. “At least you’ve given me new material to write about. Discreetly, of course.”

His shoulders shook before you heard the quiet laughter. It was natural, the smile that broke your sullen expression.

“Always the artist,” his voice was hoarse, but tension melted with the shadows. Soft peony pink light gave chase to unease. The night had begun to settle, and nothing seemed impossible when the sun illuminated skeletons in the closet.

Steady fingertips lifted to graze skin that still resembled skin, traced his cheekbones and threaded through his dark hair. Your touch was feather light, barely there, yet it still made Frank’s heartbeat rage more than any fight ever could.

In that moment, he made up his mind.

History was not going to repeat itself – not this time. Not in this city. Not with you.

A marred hand reached to twine with the one at your side, always gentle, always kind. You minded his injuries best you could, but he would rather feel the white hot flash of pain by your hand than by that of any other.

You lost yourselves in one another, but it was different that night, that morning, that place where time wasn’t quite one thing, nor the next. The lines blurred, then disappeared altogether, because the only thing that mattered was the grasp of those moments. The stark existence of a simple life made of anything other.

When you drifted off to sleep, his fingertips left ember trails smoldering along bare skin. You wondered if you loved him.

You were glowing with golden dust from fallen stars, glittering bright and hazy and he knew, deep, deep down, where this could go, what this could be. If he were someone else, if this was another life.

He slipped out before the sun rose above the horizon.

[exoticarmy127]

🎧 Track 10: Unsaid Emily by Charlie Gillespie

🎵  “If I could take us back, if I could just do that And write in every empty space, the words "I love you" in replace Then maybe time would not erase me.

Featuring: BTS - Jungkook

OC - Emily Mei

Some time before.

They say words are like bullets. Easy to pull the trigger without thinking... easier said that once done, it’s impossible for the damage to be undone.

“So what, you’re sick of it? Is that what you’re saying?” Jungkook shouted as he shoved his song book into his backpack. The night had been going well and for once, he thought they could have one night—one night where he didn’t feel like pulling his hair out for once.  

“Stop putting words in my mouth, Jungkook! That’s not what I’m saying at all!” Emily shouted back as the fight escalated into a crescendo of screams and shouts. It was always about the same thing: Jungkook being too busy with his music; Emily being too busy with her studies to make time for him when he’s off practice; not having enough time for each other; not wanting to communicate; blah, blah, blah...

Jungkook was sick of it. Things were finally looking up for his band and he had poured his entire heart and soul into it. His passion. He thought Emily understood that. He thought she understood him. But to his confusion, Emily didn’t seem too happy about it.

“Really? Because it sure as hell sounds like you’re done.” He seethed. “Hell—I’m done with this sh*t!”

Silence enveloped the room and for a moment the world stopped. The fight had reached its final curtain call and Jungkook hoped there wouldn’t be an encore.

Emily looked at him, bewildered. “Jungkook...”

“Save it. I have rehearsals in fifteen. I’m already late and the guys are already at the studio. I don’t need a distraction.”

“Distraction?” She echoed as she watched him pick up his things and head for the door. Her expression contorts into something in between anger and confusion. “So what? You’re just going to leave it like that? Don’t you even care about this? About us?

“What about it?” He muttered flatly, but Emily looked like she had just been slapped.

“What about it? What exactly are you saying, Guk?” Her voice was a low whisper, like a dormant volcano just waiting to erupt. Jungkook sighed and it sounded exhausted, irritated, even; like he had already erupted and this was just the messy aftermath.

“I’m saying I’m done.” He whirled at her, his eyes empty of their usual love and affection, replaced by fierce anger and deadly sincerity. “I’m done, all right? I don’t wanna do this any more than you do.”

“Y-you don't mean that. Hell, you’re thinking I’m the villain here but all I’m saying is that if you don’t give time to what’s important to you, you’re gonna end up losing them.”

Her words hit him square in the chest and when it should have made him sad, it only angered him more.

So she’s giving up on me. She’s letting go. She doesn’t want this—doesn’t want me—anymore.

“I should get to practice already before I lose it, then.”

Jungkook knew it was the wrong answer but he couldn’t give in now. The tension was palpable in the room and he held his breath for another round of sharp words and accusations. But it never came. Emily stood there, stunned, while Jungkook continued to pack his belongings, purposely avoiding her gaze. He knew that if he looked at her now, he'd break, and they’d be back to square one. They’d make up only to fight again by the end of the week.

He could hear her sniffing and he bit the inside of his cheek to keep himself from looking up at her. If there was one thing he hated more than fighting, it was seeing her cry.

“Look,” Emily started, her voice hoarse. “You’re just angry. We can talk after—“

“Well, I’ve been angry for a long time.” Jungkook grumbled as he made his way to the door, hastily.

“Guk, please...”

He paused by the threshold when he heard the crack in her voice and he hated how easy it could beckon him. He closed his hand into fists and pressed his lips into a thin line. He looked down at the floors of her apartment, one he had considered home more than his own for as long as he could remember.

“Let’s face it, Em. We obviously want different things now.”

“Do you really believe that?” She asked but he didn’t answer. She took a step closer, their forms lit by the single light bulb in the narrow hallway. “If you really do, then I won’t stop you.”

Jungkook lifted his gaze to the ceiling, closed his eyes and sighed. “Look, I’m tired of fighting.” He looked at her over his shoulder, his eyes cold and unyielding. “Aren’t you?”

Without another word, he slipped out the door, shutting it behind him. The click of the lock sounded much like an end... A period... A goodbye.

Jungkook left that night not knowing he’d carry the weight of his words for a very long time.

~~~

Some time after.

Jungkook gripped the guitar strap on his shoulder as he walked the empty halls of his old high school. The late afternoon sun casted orange hues across the tiled halls and over the metal lockers lining the wall. A couple of students emerged from a door to his right, but they paid him no mind and walked past him, busily talking to each other. Jungkook paused and looked over his shoulder, watching them hold hands before completely disappearing from his view as they rounded a corner. He looked down at his own hand and sighed.

He remembered it like it was yesterday: the very first time he held her hand...or rather, the first time he felt something when he did.

Flashback

Jungkook leaned against Emily’s locker, giving her one of his famed puppy eyes he knew she couldn’t resist. “Em, come on… Let’s just ditch school today and go rehearse.”

“At this rate, you’ll have to make me a member of your band.”

“You are a member. An honorary one, at least.” Jungkook grinned and batted his pretty eyes. Emily rolled her eyes but he caught the small smile tugging on the corner of her mouth.

Her very pretty mouth...

Wait, what? Jungkook blinked at the thought and cleared his throat when he felt the heat creeping to his cheeks.

“You okay?” Emily cocked an eyebrow at him and he straightened and crossed his arms, defensively.

“Fine. Now come on! Say yes.”

“No.”

“Boo.”

Emily chuckled and patted his shoulder. The action was meant to be friendly but Jungkook felt like he had been shot by lightning, his eyes in a daze as he stared at her playful smile.

“You’ll thank me later for dragging your ass back to class. Trust me.”

The hall bell rang and both their heads darted up to the ceiling.

“Sh*t! We’re gonna be late.” Emily panicked but Jungkook only leaned against the lockers again, lips curling into a smirk.

“Well, you know what they say, it’s better never than late.” He wiggled his eyebrows suggestively, while Emily scoffed and rolled her eyes.

“That’s not how the saying goes!”

“Not in my book. Come on, let’s just skip it and—whoa!” Emily grabbed his hand and before Jungkook could process the warmth on his skin, she was dragging him through the hallway so fast; the two of them running to class hand in hand.

Jungkook was winded by the time they reached the classroom, but it wasn’t because they just rushed to the other side of the building in record time...

But because the whole time they did, not once did she let go, and it was electrifying.

End of flashback

The memory faded like a song on the radio and Jungkook’s grip on his guitar tightened. He didn’t have much time. He had to do this before...

Before it’s too late again.  

The sun was setting soon and Jungkook walked faster as he made his way to the room he was looking for. It was weird walking through these hallways. He knew where everything was. It was familiar and yet also strange, like he no longer belonged.  

That’s because I probably don’t. Not anymore... he thought bitterly.

He reached the second floor and walked to the end of the left corridor where the music room was located.

He opened the door and sighed in relief when he found it empty. He let himself in and wandered, seeing all the instruments and music sheets scattered around the room. There’s a platform at the very front, a low stage with a white screen covering it, which he supposed was either meant to be a curtain of sorts for performances or for video presentations. To its right was an open window with a sheen curtain, overlooking the quadrangle.

Jungkook found the teacher’s table to his right and ambled towards it. He reached for his song book inside his jacket and flipped through the wrinkled pages until it was on the most important page before putting it down on the desk. Next, he reached into his back pocket and retrieved a small tape recorder. He placed the device beside the song book and pressed play.

Footsteps sounded from outside and Jungkook looked back in panic before rushing to the stage and hiding behind the screen.

The door opened to voices of girls and boys but one in particular rose among them; familiar and so very...her.

“Alright guys, I’ll see what I can do, okay? And don’t be late for practice! The competition is in two weeks. And what did I always say?”

“Practice doesn’t make us perfect but it makes us better.” The students all said in unison and Jungkook smiled. He used to tell her that whenever she caught him practicing too late (which was 99% of the time).

“Okay. See you tomorrow, guys.”

“Bye, Ms. Mei!”

Jungkook swallowed as he tried to sneak a peek from behind the screen. He held his breath as he watched a woman close the door, and then turned towards the room. Emily stood there in jeans and a button-down blouse with her hair tied up in a ponytail. She was radiant as ever and looked something out of a movie scene. Jungkook smiled sadly as he gazed at her from behind the screen. She looked the same but also different, which he supposed was how time passed for people you loved...

Love.

She suddenly looked to the other side of the room, and from where Jungkook stood, it felt like she was looking right at him. Even though he knew it was impossible, his heart skipped a beat.

He held his breath as she made her way to her desk, not yet noticing the change in it. He chewed on his lip, a habit of his when he was nervous, and watched as she picked up instruments and placed them into their proper cases before finally reaching the table to organize a bunch of papers and sheet music lying around.

She lifted one of the sheets and paused, and Jungkook knew she saw it.

He stared as her face morphed from confusion, to curiosity, then to shock. She looked up, eyes looking wildly around her as if she’d find the person who left the notebook there.

She never would.

Jungkook looked down at his watch then at the open window, seeing the sun slowly sinking into the horizon, turning the skies pink and purple.

It’s time.

The sun’s rays casted a golden glow against his face and shadows crawled against the wooden floors of the music room.

Jungkook took a deep breath and watched her through the screen. He waited for a few breaths for the light to cast over the screen just right... just until he knew his shadow could be seen on the other side. When it finally did, he felt the magic spark against his skin and found his voice at last.

“Emily.”

Emily looked up at the voice, her expression somewhere in the middle of shock and fear and...sorrow.

“Who’s there…?” Her voice cracked and it sounded less of a question as her face showed recognition. Jungkook supposed he should be happy she could still remember his voice. All those nights he sang to her came rushing back and the pain in his chest grew... One he knew he could never quell.

“Don’t be afraid. It’s just me.”

Emily lets out a gasp and drops the papers she was holding. The sheets flew in all directions but she couldn’t seem to care. She turned around in a circle, looking for the impossible. But she couldn’t see anything. It was then that she laid eyes on the recorder playing on the table.

“Jungkook?” She whispered in disbelief.

“I-I know it’s sudden. But there are some things I didn’t get to say to you... that night.”

Jungkook brought his guitar to his front, letting the instrument fit against his body like second skin. Emily always told him that he carried and played it like it was a part of him. When she said that, he’d hold her hand and tell her that if there was one thing he considered a part of him, it would be her.

Back then, he meant it to be a cheesy, adoring boyfriend. Now, it was the hard truth that slapped him across the face.

“H-how is this...” Emily’s voice shook, her head turning and eyes brimming with tears as she stared wide-eyed at the tape recorder on the table.

Jungkook inhaled deeply and as he breathed out, the first few notes sounded from his guitar, his fingers moving deftly against the frets and strings like he had never stopped playing in the first place. Music was always a part of his DNA, an extension of his soul. When he played, he played with his whole heart and right now as she stared at Emily reading the page on his song book, he sang with his everything.

First things first

We start the scene in reverse

All of the lines rehearsed

Disappeared from my mind

Jungkook closed his eyes and let the music take over. People said actions spoke louder than words, but for Jungkook, his music had always been his way of showing how he truly felt. The loudest way he could express what he felt. Wearing his heart on his sleeve, he told her all the things he should’ve done...

When things got loud

One of us running out

I should've turned around

But I had too much pride

Emily covered her lips with a shaking hand and Jungkook knew she was thinking about the last time they had seen each other. How they both said some horrible things, words thrown at each recklessly without thought. Jungkook treated it like a sport. Who could say the worst things? Who would break first and give in? Even when he knew there was no chance of either of them winning.

He wasn’t even sure why he fought when he knew she was just trying to save the one thing he knew he would regret most. More than his music, Emily meant everything to him.

No time for goodbyes

Didn't get to apologize

Pieces of a clock that lies broken

Regrets were often made from the things you thought were right at the moment. Jungkook had known he made the wrong one the moment he stepped out of that door. But he just couldn’t swallow his pride and walked away. And now, he’s stuck in that moment, thinking of what could’ve been if he just turned around...

If I could take us back, if I could just do that

And write in every empty space the words "I love you" in replace

Then maybe time would not erase me

~~~

Emily trembled as she read the words, her hand splayed on the page, her fingertips tracing Jungkook’s familiar messy scrawls. The words were written in haste, which in Jungkook’s music vocabulary meant they were written with the most emotion. She could see it in the curve of his letters, in the way the ink bled through the page, showing that he was gripping the pen too tightly in either excitement or frustration. He saw it in the scrawls, the words scratched over as he struggled to find the right words—the right lyrics that will reflect his feelings. A tear fell from her eye.

The one thing Emily learned about Jungkook in the years that they were together was that he wasn’t the most expressive of people. He was quiet, always in his own world, in his own music headspace. But Emily knew him like the back of her hand. So well that she could easily tell what he was feeling through his eyes.

She couldn’t forget the night he left and how he gazed at her...like he was done, like he didn’t love her anymore.

If you could only know I'd never let you go

And the words I most regret are the ones I never meant to leave...

Unsaid Emily.

Emily loved Jungkook’s music. It was one of the things he loved about him. So when his career started to take off, she did nothing but support him. It was given blindly out of love and belief that he could make it big. That his talent was big enough for the world.

But she never thought of the consequences. Never thought his dreams would be the reason he would drift father away from her each day, until they were no more than just strangers.

But Jungkook would never be a stranger, she thought sadly. A heartbreaking memory, perhaps. But never a stranger.

~~~

Silent days, mysteries and mistakes

Who'd be the first to break?

Guess we're alike that way

The problem with two people who were both passionate and strong-willed was that they were both willing to prove they’re right. Near the end of their relationship, they barely even talked. The silence deafening and stretching for days on end...

Jungkook wished he broke the silent spell then and shouted out from the rooftops how much he loved her.

He said, she said

Conversations in my head

And that's just where they're gonna stay forever

Emily’s tears began to fall, the tears staining the paper in front of her as she read the lyrics. Her hands shook, her heart ached in her chest, and it felt like with every note and every line, her heart cracked just a little bit… her once broken heart, breaking once again.

When he walked out that night, she forgot to say should’ve asked him...

Stay.

If I could take us back, if I could just do that

And write in every empty space the words "I love you" in replace

Then maybe time would not erase me

If you could only know I'd never let you go

And the words I most regret are the ones I never meant to leave

Unsaid Emily

Emily sank to her knees, shaking and crying as she held the song book to her chest. The echoes of the song still ringing in her ears. Jungkook watched with tears in his eyes. If there was one thing he hated more than anything, it was seeing the love of his life crying and being the reason for it.

She cried for the time they wasted fighting. He cried for the time stolen from him and could never get back. But most of all, they cried for the time—and love they lost.

“I’m sorry.” He croaked as the tears continued to fall. “I never meant it. I was never tired.”

Emily looked up at his words, her eyes zeroing in on the screen. Jungkook gasped as it felt like she was looking right at him.

The sun was so low that he could catch the blue hour slipping through that small window of time from the way the shadows began to disappear. He held his breath as she walked towards the platform, the song book clutched to her chest. With the remaining light, he hoped she could see him.

“Guk?”

Jungkook choked out a sob as he reached out to the screen and spread his palm over it. Emily’s breath hitched as she lifted her right hand over it, until they were hand to hand.

Jungkook let out a shaky breath when he saw the shadow of her hand against his through the screen. She’s so close...

And yet lifetimes apart.

“I-I don’t know what’s happening but you have to know…” Emily whispered to the wind but Jungkook heard her loud and clear. “I forgive you. And I’m sorry, too.”

Jungkook shook his head. He should’ve been relieved but he wasn’t. He wasn’t because one stupid decision costed him so much. Costed him a life with the person he loved the most.

It’s almost time...

A voice reverberated in his head, making his heart quicken in panic. I don’t have much time, he wanted to say. But he knew there was only ever one thing left to say…

“Emily, I lo—”

The sun dipped and the shadow disappeared from the screen, leaving the room dark and blue with the beginnings of silver moonlight shining from the window. And then there was an eerie silence.

Emily gasped when a gust of wind blew through the open window, turning the page of the song book to the next...

She cried even more when she read the three words written in his handwriting.

~~~

Some time in between.

Jungkook finished the song at midnight, his fingertips scarred from playing his guitar for hours, his hand dotted with ink stains, and his chest heaving from satisfaction and excitement as he stared at the open page in front of him.

It’s done.

“Now I just have to sing it to her.” Jungkook licked his lips as he turned to the next page and wrote the words: I love you. 

He looked up at the clock and saw the time but he didn’t care. He'd break in through her window if he had to.

Emily had to know how he felt. It had been two days since the big fight and Jungkook couldn’t eat or sleep. He knew he should’ve returned to her immediately, but he had to wait. He had to show her he was sorry. And he had to do it in the most sincere way possible… through song.

With his guitar on his back, he took his bike and kicked his foot against the asphalt with his song book rolled and tucked in his back pocket.

He raced through the streets, ready to tell her the words... “I’m sorry”... “I’m not tired”... “I don’t hate you...”

I love you.

With thoughts of Emily and her bright, kind eyes, Jungkook sped across an intersection. There was a sudden searing light, a ringing in his ears, and...

Then nothing.

The last thing Jungkook remembered was the sight of broken wood pieces and strings... and the lyrics to a song unsung with words unsaid.

End 

Hello, my dears! Did you miss me? I loved this song so much and it inspired me so thought I’d express it through fanfic. haha!

I hope everyone is staying safe and well. It’s been a weird past few months (or year really) but we’re pushing through and I hope you are too! I hope you guys enjoyed this scenario. Even though it made you cry (hell it made me cry!) Btw, this song is from the sound track of the Netflix series, Julie and the Phantoms. Go watch it if you haven’t! It’s good! I am hoping for a season 2~

Do let me know what you think of this and let me know if you guys have some song recs for this series. ;)

- Kaye Allen

LSS PLAYLIST ; mobile 

[somedayonbroadway]

Newsies Bandstand AU??

Bandstand AU

Since I already had an ask for a Bandstand AU, I wrote a scene! Please enjoy I Know a Guy!

“How’s the house tonight?”

“Good! Lining up outside already!”

Tony nodded, assembling his saxophone steadily in his arms, ready to play a few notes and get warmed up. He might make rent this month after all. That is, if his damn band would show up on time. “Of course Skip’s runnin’ late…” he muttered to himself, checking his watch for what must’ve been the millionth time. “Can’t find a decent piano player that shows up on time…” Shaking his head, he started to warm up anyways.

He failed to notice someone sliding in through the door just beside him.

“Hiya.” The voice caught him off guard. If he hadn’t been beside a chair that he could latch onto so quickly, he might’ve fallen over. But he closed his eyes for a moment, collecting himself before looking over at the man beside him, hardly more than a few years older than him, smirking at him, smugness radiating off of him. “Didn’t mean ta scare ya, pal… I’m lookin’ for Antonio Higgins.”

“Well, ya found him, but he ain’t too keen on talkin’ ta you right about now,” Tony said. “We ain’t open yet.” He turned to continue rehearsing.

But this man wasn’t going to give up so easily. “The backdoor is,” he stated, pointing back to the door he’d just entered with a small grin. Tony just glared. The guy’s smile fell just a little. “Sorry… I… did you used ta play with a cat who went by the name a’ Specs? He called you—“

“Racer…” Tony finished for him, actually turning to face this stranger now. “The drummer. We played a few gigs outta of high school,” he recalled.

Nodding along, the man stepped closer to him. Tony didn’t stop him. “You went into the Air Force—?”

“Navy,” the younger man corrected immediately. He caught himself. He knew lashing out did no good. “What… what is this? My pianist ‘ll be here any second now—“

“I was army. 37th infantry,” the man informed, taking the cap off of his head and biting his lip, suddenly looking slightly nervous. “Specs said you’re good.”

Tony looked down at his shoes for a moment. “Look… I ain’t tryin’ ta be rude but I gotta show ta prepare for—“

“You can really swing, huh?”

This man seemed determined to make sure he could hardly get in a full sentence at a time. Race hated that. “If ya wait in line and pay like everyone else, you’ll find out,” he shot back.

The guy’s smirk fell easily back onto his face. “Ya know Tell Me The Night?”

Tony looked back up at this ridiculous stranger. “What are you smoking?”

The man frowned. “I’m sorry, ya don’t know Tell Me The Night?”

Somewhere in the back of Tony’s mind, he knew it was a challenge. But he’d never been one to back down from a challenge anyhow. So he brought his sax to his lips and began to play with more than just his instrument.

The man grinned, slipping onto the piano bench beside him and playing along easily, fitting his crazy improved notes in perfectly with Tony’s.

When they finished, there was an easier look on both of their faces.

The man at the piano held out his hand. “The name’s Jack,” he introduced. Tony nodded, a small smile falling on his lips as he shook Jack’s hand. “I’m… I’m thinkin’ about starting a band. All vets.”

Pausing at that, Tony stepped away, trying to make himself look busy. “I’m gettin’ a law degree. I can’t—“

“We’ll make it work.” If there was one thing Tony could tell about Jack, is what that he wasn’t one to take no for an answer. Tony admired that. It didn’t make it any less annoying. “There’s this contest on the radio…”

“The NBC thing,” the blond confirmed.

“Bingo,” Jack winked. “They just announced the statewide competition is gonna be held here in Cleveland.” The smug man shrugged. “We have the hometown advantage. What do you say?”

He had such confidence about him. Tony couldn’t help but be drawn to it. “I suppose you’d be the band leader?”

“Naturally,” Jack deadpanned. “That a yes?”

“That’s a ‘Jesus Christ, you’re relentless’,” Tony drawled, running a hand through his curls.

Jack’s raised his eyebrows as though telling this man he already knew that. “You’re welcome.”

Tony let out a small laugh as he positioned his saxophone against his chest. “Is Specs on drums?”

All the energy in the room seemed to be sucked away at that simple question. Jack’s smile fell slowly and he lowered his gaze. “Uh… no… he didn’t make it back…”

Tony’s heart broke again after it had so many times before. He didn’t know if he’d be able to keep stitching it back together. “Oh…”

“Yeah…” Jack reached to rub at the back of his neck. “So… so do you know any other guys? Who served, but young n’ good looking? Like us?”

Squinting, Tony shrugged. “It’s radio. What does it matter?”

“If we win,” Jack said, crossing his arms over his chest and stepping even closer to the younger man. “We get to be in the movies. Do you know any?”

For a moment, Tony genuinely thought about it. If he didn’t give this guy some names, Jack would surely hunt others down just as he’d done to him. Might as well give him some good players and be able to stop the panic attack Jack had nearly caused him. “Sean Conlon. Kicks it on bass. Plays at Oliver’s every weekend. Best of the best when he ain’t high,” he stated, smirking himself when he saw Jack’s eyes widen only slightly. “He’s army too.”

“I’ll take my chances,” Jack insisted, accepting the challenge.

Tony might like this guy after all. “Meet me at the Rio Lounge tomorrow night,” he offered, turning to get the stage set.

But Jack stopped him. “Wait, he plays at the Rio?!” he asked.

Turning back to him, Racer shook his head. “Nope. He drinks there.”

“We’re ready to open, Tony.”

“Let ‘em all in.”

—

“Alright, alright! I got anotha’ one!” Sean laughed, waving over the bartender who’d been serving him all night. He was slightly beyond drunk and the bartender had told him several times that he was going to be cut off soon. It didn’t stop him from sneaking drinks off the folks around him. “A pirate walks into a bar with a ship's steering wheel on the front of his pants. The bartender says 'hey Captain, you've got a steering wheel stuck to your crotch.' The pirate says 'arrgh, it's driving me nuts.'”

“Very funny, Mr. Conlon, but jokes aren’t going to buy you more drinks,” the man behind the counter stated. Sean stuck just tongue out at him, turning around on his stool, coming face to face with familiar blue eyes.

“Spottie… still as soft n’ friendly as eva’, I see…”

“Tell anyone n’ you’re a dead man, ya skinny son of a bitch,” Sean laughed, playfully punching the younger man’s shoulder. “What wind blew carried ya here, Higgins?”

Before Race could even try to respond, he was pulled into a tight hug. “Spot, this Jack Kelly. Kelly, this is Spot,” he introduced, pulling out of the embrace and gesturing to the man standing with a small smile behind him. “Jack, here made it through Solomon Islands…”

Spot looked the man up and down and smiled. “Well, I’ll tickle your catastrophe,” he shrugged. “I liberated Dachau.”

“Jesus…” Jack breathed.

“Hey, Tony told me about your band idea!” Spot gently hit Race in the chest with the back of his hand before reaching back to clasp Jack on the shoulder. “I’ve heard about you,” he explained. “So my cousin marries this Polak, right? Turns out, this guy!” Spot laughed, shaking Jack gently, “played accordion at her wedding! When he was somethin’ like what? Ten years old?”

A small but easily hidden blush crept up Jack’s neck. “Well, ya know the differenve between and accordion and Hitler?” he asked, quickly finding this man enjoyed humor. Spot shrugged. “One perpetrated years of oppression and humiliation on the Polish people… and the other is Hitler.”

It only took Spot a moment before he was engaging in a drunken laughing spell, patting Jack on the back as both of the other men laughed along with him. “You see, ‘I am not only witty in myself, but the cause that wit is in other men’.”

Jack looked between Spot and Racer, trying to figure out what had just been said to him. “I have… no idea what you just said, but I hope that means you’re in,” he shrugged.

Racer rolled his eyes. “It’s Shakespeare. And yeah… that means he’s in.”

A grin spread over Jack’s lips. “Oh great! That’s great! Now all we need are a couple a’ horns n’ a monster on drums!”

Before Race could even think to say anything, Spot already had an arm around Jack’s shoulders. It was slightly awkward, as Jack had about four inches on him, but it didn’t seem to stop either of them. So Race grabbed Spot’s drink and took a sip, watching the exchange ahead of him.

“Well, ya see, I know this guy. His trumpet’s hot but he ain’t no barrel a’ laughs,” Spot explained. He gestured between them. “Although, I think between that two a’ us… we might have a shot at break in’ him,” he smirked. He leaned a bit heavier on Jack and Jack could only laugh.

“Let’s do it.”

“Get your jokes ready, Jack-Be-Nimble-Jack-Be-Quick,” he winked.

Race smiled behind them.

—

Albert played a B flat. It was easy. It should’ve been easy. “Take it from bar four,” he instructed the boy before him.

The boy did not play a B flat. But he continued on anyway.

“Jesus, stop! For the love of…” he pointed to the sheet music in front of his student. “What’s that note right there?”

“B flat,” the boy stated, his voice wavering with nerves.

“How do you miss a B flat?” Albert asked him. “It’s a B flat trumpet!” He was yelling now. He made no attempt to stop or correct himself.

The boy shifted uncomfortably on his feet. “I’m tryin’ my best, Mr. DaSilva…” he muttered.

Albert sighed. “I know. Heartbreaking, isn’t it?” He shook his head and let his own trumpet fall at his side. “I’ll see you next week. Ask you fatha’ if he’s got the money ta get your teeth fixed. Maybe that’ll help.” He had not remorse. The boy begrudgingly packed up his things and went, clearly frustrated.

“Gee, Al. Ya goin’ for teacher of the year, here?”

Albert rolled his eyes, looking towards the door where three men stood, only one of them familiar to him. “Somethin’ like that…”

Spot shoved his hands in his pockets. “Listen, this is the guy who thinks we belong in a band together.” He nodded towards Jack who gave him a quick wave.

Albert wasted no time getting straight to the point. “Who else is playin’ trumpet? I’m not playin’ second—“

“Just you!” Jack insisted. “But we need a trombone.”

“And a drummer,” Race added.

“Has to have served.”

Albert nodded. “I know a guy. Blows like a champ but he’d got a bug up his ass.” He grabbed his trumpet case. “You want perfect… he’s the guy ya want.”

—

“Yeah, I know a guy…” David stated, cleaning his trombone, determined to clear off every smudge. “He’s kind of a mess but a genius on drums.” He shook his head. “He’s got all the rhythm you need.”

Jack grinned, holding out his hand. “Thanks, Davey. It’s good ta have ya on board.”

“David,” the other man corrected.

Still, Jack could only smile. “Thanks, Davey!”

—

“You’re starting a band? Hey! I play the drums!”

It was hard to keep the smile on his face. But Jack did his best. “That’s why we’re here Charlie… think maybe we could hear a bit?”

The kid, younger than the rest of them grinned and hopped on his only remaining leg over to the set up in the corner.

And Jack had never heard anything like it.

It was happening.

It was all happening.

[chainofbeing]

Adam witnesses the destruction that can be brought on by the Anthronesians, and sees the all too familiar horror that festers in Mights mind.

Veatorian woman: Emmy Coates

Hass man: David M. Sledge

Might-Upon-Serenity: Frances Gillard

Ovig Nadal: Glyn Pritchard

Sound design, Writing, and, Adam Delta 5: Cai Gwilym Pritchard

email us at chainofbeingofficial@gmail.com

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And check out The Green Horizon, found wherever good podcasts are. You're smart, you'll figure it out

[the sound of a relatively busy town, music playing people talking, Vestak-cry at its busiest]

I stare down at Might, she’s not moving but her pain permeates the air, distress, anguish and fear, through something troubles her even beyond her wounds. The metal shell has grown back now and her organic interior is healing relatively well. “Is there anything I can do to help?,” I say to a Veatorian woman outside of the healers yurt, she looks me up and down “Can you use that?” She gestures to the spear at my side “somewhat,” I reply “go out and hunt,” she points toward the mesa “head that way for 4  hours and then head toward the minor sun, you’ll reach some rich hunting grounds, food is scarce we need something to give these bandits,” the proposition of just giving up upsets me, I’d seen this happen many times before, Forus Minor was the most recent, having spent a bit of time there I began to recognise the kind of person it took to coerce and steal in this way, “I’ll find a way to stop them, I promise,” she looks at me as if I’d promised to destroy the moon or reverse time “with the weapons they have? We can't all be immortal,”

[the sounds of swamp wilderness, insects and frogs making noise Adam trudging along]

I grab some water and a long piece of cloth to wrap around my head to keep cool and start walking, leaving my coat behind. My ribs ache as I walk and so I begin to consider the weapon that the masked woman carried to distract myself. A laser rifle, an actual fucking laser rifle. Like something out of an old sci-fi story. The idea seemed so fantastical to me, like hover cars or pills that you take instead of eating, I mean sure, On a big enough supercruiser or an OLCoSat, but research into handheld energy weapons had been discarded hundreds of years ago. And yet I watched my friend get hit with one. I’ve been walking toward the mesa in the far distance for an hour or so when I come across another town, this one far more built up than Vestak-cry,

[the town creaks and sways, old wood and metal settling, flies buzz and a light wind blows]

The tallest building is around 3 stories high, its wide and round and built out of the engine of a mega-hauler or something of a similar size, I don't recognise the make. It casts a shadow on the rest of the village, with a roof of plastic sheeting pulled taught across and fastened to several bars which are run through it. The rest of the town surrounds this centrepiece, densely packed due to the trench that defines the border of the town. There must be about 150 separate settlements all huddled around the tall central building. I circle round to the entrance, the large metal gates lie open as I walk over the makeshift bridge the smell of rot and decay becomes suddenly very intense, I look over into the ditch and see that there are several bodies lying at the bottom, many with gunshot wounds in the back of the head or with large singed portions of their body missing. In the town the walls of all the buildings are marked with large gashes and bullet holes, every so often a blackened streak will appear or a hole through several buildings lets the wind whistle through it. More bodies litter the town, the killing blows less methodical as some of them clutch lengths of iron rebar or other makeshift weapons grabbed in a moment of panic. Silence is relative, you may think where you are is quiet, but if you listen closely enough there will always be the sound of a vehicle or the wind blowing lightly, in concert halls after a powerful song ends the space is deathly quiet, even as the last waves created by the instruments reverberate in the room. The same is with the town, there is no silence, the wind blows and buildings settle, yet next to what must have been a loud and bustling organism made up of hundreds of people who all knew each other's names and lives, all with individual stories that converge on this one point, it might as well be a burial chamber, forgotten and lost. The Hollowed out engine is a market , from what I can gather, all along the circumference and in the core of it stalls are strewn about, small, yet useless, trinkets with the more valuable items stolen. On the front entrance to the market there is a Tra’ha’dowl, strung up from the iron bars which keep the plastic roof in place, it can only be a few weeks since he was killed, his small black eyes are sunken and faded with decay and his small many toothed maw hangs open, his rubbery pale skin hugs tightly to his skeleton as the flesh rots. Hung from his neck is a black banner with the white insignia of a six spoked wheel run through with a sword. Beneath this the words “Unto Humanity Only” are inscribed in an ancient human language, not spoken since the old days of humanity, before the council. I leave the town and begin a long arc back to vestak-cry hoping to cover as much ground as possible in the hopes of not returning empty handed. And so I once more march in the wilderness.      

There's a large pool of water just ahead of me, some creature drinking from it causes ripples to emanate from its long toothy snout. It is hunched down on six legs and its long flowing feathers ripple in the light breeze, I extend my spear and it raises its head reflexively, a pair of ears shoot into the air and it tenses up, it goes to run but it stops, something slowly snakes up its legs and at first I think it's some kind of eel from the water or a serpent of some kind, but then I realise that the vines are pulling the creature into the water it calls out, thrashing in futile desperation. The tips of the vines pierce its skin and it falls still, its large black eyes lose their deep colour and go hazy and it allows itself to be pulled to the bottom of the pond. Completely astounded and with my spear pointed downwards in front of me I cautiously approach the edge of the pond, the water still ripples and I peer down into its depths, I can't see the bottom either due to its murkiness or its depth I can’t tell. A moan calls behind me and I spin around, spear raised, a smaller but much angrier looking version of the beast I watched get devoured is hunched down, it has less hair then the other and it is armed with a large set of chipped horns and long curved teeth. It charges and I stumble to the side narrowly avoiding getting run through. It gracefully turns around and goes for another charge and I thrust the spear at its eye, missing and instead adding another nick to its horns. On its third charge I drop to the ground and brace the end of my spear into the ground as it gores itself with the force of its own charge, I push up and forward against its ribs to keep it away from the edge of the water from which more vines smoothly snake outwards, and it stumbles away. I twist the ring on the pole and it electrifies, the beast cries out and its muscles tense up, while it’s still stunned I pull out the blade and drive it up through its jaw and into the skull, it collapses, and the vines begin to withdraw.

[the sound of Vestak cry, no music but people still talk and move about] Back at Vestak-Cry I drag my blood soaked cloth filled with the chopped up creature to the centre of town, I leave it next to a plastic barrel filled with fresh water and a large bushel of herbs, a meagre offering from a town of people whose value comes from the intellectual realm rather then the physical. Might is still unconscious when I go to check on her, two attendees surround her, sitting and staring into space, waiting for an improvement. “Surely she should be better by now?” I say impatiently to the Dŵrian closest to me, he blinks twice, one lid covering the whole bulging eye from the bottom and then opening again. “they don't talk, vow of silence,” a large hass sits in a rocking chair and is sprinkling some substance into their liquid filled breathing apparatus. “That’s a good thing if you ask me, Dŵrians have a natural sense of superiority. just because they are amphibious, it’s obnoxious.” “Well?” I ask, my attention shifting to the aquatic humanoid “She’s taking her time, that weapon the human carried really did a number on her, that ain't no usual firearm, seemed magical,” He looks me up and down “you’re probably fixin’ for an explanation huh?” I nod  “suppose I can try and provide some illumination. People like us come here to be isolated. This is just a small fragment of who lives here. Most came here by accident ‘cept us that us that is. This planet is uniquely situated so that don’t appear on any maps and cannot be discovered by conventional means,” “How is that possible?” he shrugs, “ maybe the mineral makeup of the planet? Perhaps some ancient artefact buried deep within some hidden temple just waiting for you to go get it,” he says sarcastically and then laughs, “we could spend hours speculating. But the point is that ‘cause of this... phenomenon there are lots of people on this rock who would rather not be, people who had no good reason for being out this far away from hubs of the galaxy if you catch my drift.” Anyone trying to keep out of council monitored widening field routes by using backway lanes and jump points mixed with a planet that doesn't show up on scanners gets you a bunch of unsavoury types on the same planet as other vulnerable and lost people which is never good. He points up at one of the mesas far in the distance, the green mess of the vines gradually becoming more sparse, presumably as whatever gas the plant breathes becomes less abundant. “The group that human is a part of are set up on that plateau there, they came here about 4 months ago, they’ve already set up base out of the ship they came here on, They’re not here on accident, they don't wanna be found. When they got here we thought nothing of it. But then they started expanding outwards. The nearest village, sapiran… well, humans aren't exactly known for their peaceful nature, no offence,” “None taken,” I say, my eyes fixed on might, “and the vines?” I ask “What about them?” he says, surprised at my asking “They cover every square inch of the ground, everywhere I go it grows incredibly densely and it doesn't behave like a plant should, aren't there any vitamancers here? Surely they‘d know something about it?” “The only vitamancy that gets here is by our amphibious friend here,” he points at the Dŵrian who looks absently at the horizon, “hey Bedyw,” the Dŵrian doesn't flinch. The Hass man picks up a chunk of whatever substance he was filtering into his breathing apparatus and flicks it at the Dŵrian who starts and looks at the Hass with visible confusion on their scaled face “you’ve got a vow of silence not a vow of not listening! The vines!”  Bedyw shrugs what do you expect me to do? “I dunno, mime it or something,” They raise their hands and scrunch up their face at the ridiculousness of the idea but go to try and explain anyway. they look me in the eyes and put their hand on the ground tugging at the vines, then they motion the shape of a sphere “the vines cover the whole planet?” they give me a thumbs up. They hold up a single claw and then put their fingers to their temples and draw them away, splaying out their hands and widening their eyes as they do so. “One… dream? One explosion?” they turn to the Hass man and gestures hey I tried.

 “Well that was unhelpful and confusing,” Bedyw does another gesture that I don't recognise but assume is some expletive. “If you don't mind me askin’” the Hass man says taking a deep breath from his breathing tube which sits on around his neck, “what's the deal with you two? Me and Bedyw reckon you're ex-lovers or something” “No it's not like that,” I say “Well what is it like?” I pause, nothing quite describes it really, no one else in the whole universe has been through what we had been through and had lived in the way we had. “It’s more like…we’re siblings, sort of,” “I've got plenty of siblings, some 400, but mama always said I was the special one. how’d you become acquainted then?” “It’s a long story,” “I’ve got time,” “No, it starts at the beginning of life itself in the universe so you really don’t,” “Fair enough,” he grumbles “Sorry, but aren't you more worried about the Anthronesians? Not how I met Might?” “Everything is as it was ever going to be,” The Dŵrian rolls their eyes “Aren't you more worried about what's up with Might?” he asks “I mean sure, but I just have to be patient, she’ll heal in time,” “Not her wounds kid,” he says but then realises how ridiculous he looks calling someone hundreds of thousands of years old ‘kid’ “Can you not see it?” “Oh. right.” “Somethings eatin’ at her, she ain’t been right for the past few weeks. We can all see it, surprised you can’t” “It’s been such a long time since I’ve seen her I just assumed this is how she is now I- I don't know,” Might begins to stir, a deep black sphere appears above her forehead and the air around her starts to shiver, “See?” I say moving over to her “if she’s still having visions, it can't be that bad,” “This ain’t like usual, somethings wrong,” A thin line of black emerges from her eyes like tears streaming upwards into the air and they make contact with the sphere of light hovering above her. The world suddenly turns black and I feel myself brought into her mind.

[the vision realm is harmonious, slightly musical almost, but also tortured and disturbing]

I’m in a small cave, the walls are made of dark strings which splay outwards, through the thick tangle I see the shape of some huge creature move around and snake up and over my head settling behind might who stands at the other end, the tangle of thin lines emanating from behind her, she stands with her hands out,  strings wrapped and tangled between her fingers. “Adam,” she says, her voice travelling along the threads , “We have little time. Eden, you need to get there first, to the start of it all,” A dark shadow appears behind her but neither of us react, as if we had known of its presence long before it arrived. “To leave this place” she pulls down a thread, plucks it and watches the vibrations travel away from her “You must go to the Anthronesians, they have a dissimulation field, they’re hiding something, uncover it” she points and I know where she means, on top of the mesa. The shadow places a pale hand on her shoulder and the lights in her body around where he grips her change into a polychromatic haze, glowing brightly, “after that you don't need to worry, your path will become clear,” “Yeah sure I’ll be totally calm,” she gestures the equivalent of a melancholy smile with her hands, a depth to her feeling lost on me, due to my limited perception of the light spectrum. The shadow grows larger. “If this doesn't work,, will you visit the others? I’m sure they’d like to see you. Well, most of them anyway,” “If what doesn't work?” The haze of rapidly shifting light completely engulfs her body and she draws her sword, pulling the threads wrapped around her fingers down, untangling many of the knots that provide the ceiling and walls with structure. She spins and swings the blade in an upward motion cutting up the shadows chest and severing a few threads in the process. An angry mist of polychrome energy bursts from the wound singing more and severing them. The shadow hatefully grabs might by the mask and throws her to the ground, unfazed she jabs the sword into his forearm and pulls it back toward her. The shadow recoils in shock and might rolls back onto her feet. The darkness around the shadow dissipates and for the first time I see Ovig Nadal in his true intolerable and impossible form,

From his eyeless head which hangs on a long stooped neck a white set of horns wriggle and writhe violently like maggots, and Impossibly and most distressing they are simultaneously still. Two sets of wings protrude out from his back, long and bowed. The edges of his body shiver and shudder, as he moves 7 echoes of his motions follow like ghosts each in a different colour of the light spectrum. His wide and smiling jaw hangs open as he pants, polychrome gas rising from his gullet with each deep breath. This same gas drips in liquid form from his fresh wound. Surrounded by an ashy substance which is the same pallid colour as his skin, His presence emanates outwards, in defiance of the universe and he holds out his slender, clawed hand as if presenting the damage to us. His form refuses to hold a consistent shape, undoubtedly might be witnessing a separate horror however, despite the shifting form, my eyes sting with tears nonetheless.

[The sound of the vision realm is filled with the words that Ovig Nadal is about to speak, mere glimpses hard to discern fully until he says them]

The image of this edgeless horror is known to me; it has festered in the back of my mind since Eden, as it is in all of humanity, all generations proceeding from me are instilled with a fear of him, the impact of my actions seared his image deep into the collective unconscious. “I seek only to free you, you blinded children, you thankless and scornful hordes,” as he speaks the matter which he appears to be made of begins to flake and an ashy substance fills the air. “You are an alien in this universe,” might says, “and in this of all realms you have even less grasp of your place, you are more of concept than of being, but even ideas can be laid to rest and quelled, I banish you, you who would seek to revoke and undo, my mind will not be a battleground for you. So fuck off.” The last of the ash dissipates and the black threads fade to blue and then into nothing, we now stand in a large empty space in which there is the true nothing "That's better," she says and I awaken to the sight of the Dŵrian and the Hass standing over me "You okay kid?" The Hass asks me "Yeah I'm good," "What was that all about?" "Vision realm, extra-dimensional creature had possessed might but it's fine now" The two look at each other and then back to me "Fair enough," might rouses from her sleep as I am pulled to me feet Not one to waste time she speaks before I can "that was weird huh?" "What was that move all about?" "I don't know I just suddenly felt that was was I was meant to do, it felt so right," “So he’s why your visions were different then?” “I guess so, but I’m not sure why he didn't just possess me outright? Its like something was keeping him from completely taking over,” “I didn't think anything could stop his will,” she turns to me, serious now "if you want to deactivate the dissimulation field you're going to have to go now," "No goodbyes?" "We'll see each other again, I'm sure,” "Do you know that or are you just being sentimental," “we’re immortal, the odds are that eventually we’ll run into each other" She roots through one of her pockets "Take this, for your little bag of tricks," She holds out a small bronze sphere, covered in seams and edges "Is this-?" I ask "Yeah," she answers "Holy shit, this is so rare! I don't know if I’ll feel right using it," "Farewell, Adam" "Farewell might-upon-serenity," We refrain from using each other's curse names. I turn and head in the direction of the Mesa, with a simple mission in mind and a trust that my friend will guide me well.

[a-damson-in-distress]

The Protégé

Pairing: MadaSaku

Plot: In search of a new cellist for his prestigious orchestra, an infamously feared maestro stumbles upon a young rising star. Modern day AU.

Note: Sooo yeah, I dunno, I did a thing? And now the thing has been done and wants to be shared. This idea has been floating through my head for the last couple of days and I just absolutely had to write it down. I’ve never been part of an orchestra, so please just ignore the fuck out of any irregularities and mistakes. Hope you like it, let me know what you think.

Also, please watch this video before reading the chapter, as this is the piece Sakura will be playing. I feel like you really need to hear/watch it beforehand to be able to fully dive into the musical experience I’m so desperately trying (but probably failing) to describe. Also sharing it simply because it’s fucking awesome. Enjoy.

“Why is she getting a solo again? This isn’t part of our usual programme.”

Someone next to her made a shushing sound.

“You know why,” whispered her seatmate while leaning down to her face. “She’s the star of the show.”

“She’s been with us for more than a year now, she never got a solo before. What’s so different tonight?”

Another shush. This time accompanied by an angry glare and a finger pressed tightly against a pair of lips. She shot the shusher a fake smile, gave a tiny, barely audible grunt of contempt and leaned back in her seat. As she watched the person in question approach the seat at the centre of the stage amidst excited applause, she had to supress the urge to roll her eyes, fully aware of the cameras surrounding them.

A tap on her shoulder made her turn her head slightly to the left, as she felt another voice whisper in her ear, “Rumour has it the maestro gave her the solo tonight, because somebody asked her to. Supposedly another conductor who’s trying to poach her.”

Her eyes went wide as she turned her gaze from the girl getting ready underneath the spotlight at the centre of the stage to the person sitting behind her. “Why the hell would she even agree to that? If I were a conductor and someone was trying to poach my best musician, I’d lock her up instead of presenting her on a silver platter. Besides, our maestro doesn’t even like any of the other conductors, she thinks she’s better than all of them. I can’t think of a single one she would do this for.”

Another shush. Another glare. Another finger.

They all momentarily turned their gazes to the front and listened to the last bit of their maestro’s short speech introducing the solo and its musicians. There was that whisper behind her again.

“Well, rumour has it that he recently kicked out a cellist and is looking for a replacement.”

Her jaw dropped. It couldn’t be. With wide eyes, she frantically searched the large concert hall as if she could spot the infamous conductor somewhere in the sea of guests enveloped in darkness. She suddenly felt her nervousness grow into exorbitant heights while at the same time feeling her confidence shrink to the size of a peanut. He had that effect on musicians.

Her heart was now beating to the beat of the Radetzky March, and she was afraid it was so loud her seatmate would hear it when he leaned towards her again. “Don’t be jealous. I hope he does take her on. At some point, she won’t be able to meet his crazy high expectations and that’ll be the end of Miss Goody Two-Shoes. He’ll eat her alive.”

Sakura watched her fellow cellist approach the two seats in the middle from the stage entrance on the other end. As she let the applause of the audience wash over her, her right hand went to the left sleeve of her white blouse to roll it up to her elbows and do the same on the other side. Normally, such an unkempt look was an absolute no-go in the world of classical music. Everything had to be ironed, styled, and made-up to perfection – they were, after all, Tsunade Senju’s orchestra. However, for this particular performance, both cellists were allowed the singular exception of discarding their suit jackets and rolling up their sleeves.

Grabbing a hold of her beloved instrument and settling it between her spread legs, she listened to her maestro explain her two cellists’ dishevelled look and assuring the audience that they will soon realise why the musicians need a bit more freedom of movement from their restricting concert outfits. Their maestro went on to explain that even though this was supposed to be a solo for the principal cellist – Sakura – the piece nevertheless required another to accompany her.

Setting down the microphone on her music stand, Tsunade gave her two cellists a silent nod and retreated to the back of the stage, where the rest of the orchestra was sitting underneath dimmed stage lights.

Sakura exchanged a knowing look with her cellist partner and took a deep breath. Lowering her head and silently setting her bow onto the four strings of her Knilling Maestro cello, she positioned her fingers onto the neck and started to play.

Perfectly in tune with one another, the two musicians let a harmonic, baroque melody engulf the audience while their fingers deftly wandered across their cello’s neck and their bows carefully drew over the strings with years of hard practice and musical passion.

The melody started out slow, gingerly eliciting the sounds from their instruments. Sakura’s experienced fingertips caressed the neck while her bow glid across the strings like a gentle breeze over a valley. While the first few bars of their piece were very classical, careful, and conservative, the melody slowly picked up its pace. The gentle breeze turned into a gust of wind as Sakura’s hands no longer caressed her instrument but gripped it with a starved passion. The two cellists seemed to be goading each other with their frenzied movements and the fast-paced melody, the gust of wind growing ever stronger, the originally careful tune of their piece long since replaced with hectic staccati and exhilarating chords.

And then, Sakura locked eyes with her partner, and they unleashed a hurricane.

At this point, she could no longer keep still. Her feet were tapping on the floor, her entire body writhing in her seat, longing to be part of the melody, and her head was bobbing up and down to the beat of their rendition of AC/DC’s Thunderstruck. What the two musicians were doing to their cellos now was bordering on instrumental torture, mercilessly yanking on the strings and dragging their bows across them with such a force half of the horse hairs had already snapped.

As they neared the finale of their piece, Sakura could feel her lips spreading into an excited smile and with one last forceful, passionate draw of her bow, she silenced the hurricane.

The principal cellist took a few seconds to regain her breath and only when she heard the thunderous applause of the audience in front of her did Sakura raise her head to peek at them through the strands of her hair that were ripped out of her sleek chignon through the force of her headbanging and were now hanging in her face. Quickly pulling the loose strands behind her ear, she stood up, leaned her cello against her chair, and joined her partner at the front of the stage. With her haggard bow still in her right hand, she offered her left to her fellow cellist and together, they raised their arms, smiling broadly, basked in the admiration of their audience for a few seconds before bowing deeply.

“Are you going to tell her today?”

Tsunade took another sip of her coffee while her eyes scanned over the sheet music for the symphony they were going to rehearse today.

“Of course not.”

She could feel her publicist’s expectant gaze boring into her back without turning her gaze away from her desk. Shizune sighed and asked again, “Are you at least going to tell her about the Sapporo concert?”

“No, I’m not and you know why. So stop bugging me.”

“Because he asked you to? Seriously, when have you ever done something someone asked of you, especially him.”

“I didn’t do it for him, I did it for her. He was absolutely right to ask it of me. He needed to see her perform without the pressure, without knowing what’s expecting her, without any doubts or hopes obscuring and tarnishing her performance.”

Shizune sucked in her bottom lip and let her worried gaze fall on the newspaper next to her. They were once again sitting in Tsunade’s spacious office inside the Kyoto Concert Hall, discussing the future of their orchestra’s best musician. While the maestro seemed to have her mind made up, Shizune still had doubts.

She picked up the paper and let her eyes rest on the picture that took up half a page in the Arts & Culture section. It was a photograph of their principal cellist, Sakura Haruno, taken during their recent concert in Sapporo, right after her solo performance of AC/DC’s Thunderstruck. The young woman is seen with both arms raised, one holding the hand of her fellow cellist and the other her half-wrecked bow, her dishevelled hair framing her beautiful young face, grinning like a maniac. Next to it, there was a review of their concert and praise upon praise for her performance and above it, written in bold letters: IMPERATRIX FURIOSA – SAKURA HARUNO BOLDLY TAKES JAPAN’S CLASSICAL MUSIC SCENE TO THE NEXT LEVEL.

“I’m not sure what this kind of medial coverage will do to someone so young. So far, I was able to shield her from prying eyes and the many interview requests, but if she signs on with him, that will unleash publicity hell upon her. I mean, she’s only 20 and she’s only been playing professionally for three years now and the public already has an unhealthy level of interest in her. She already has a nickname, for heaven’s sake. Do you know what they are calling her?”

Tsunade grinned from behind her coffee cup. “The Furious Empress.”

Shizune sighed, strode over to her best friend’s desk, and let the newspaper fall right on top of her sheet music. With a perfectly manicured finger, she pointed to the picture of Sakura and said, “This is what a Tsunade Senju-level of fame looks like for her. Imagine what it will be like with him. They will eat her alive. And I doubt that he has a publicist who looks after the young, inexperienced, and vulnerable musicians like I do, much less that he himself even cares. Do you really want to do this to her?”

The blonde conductor sighed and set down her coffee cup. “You make it sound like I’m sacrificing her to some evil volcano god.”

Throwing one last glance at the picture of her best musician, she turned around in her chair and fixed her best friend with a determined stare. “I have nothing to teach her anymore. She surpassed my expectations faster than I even expected her to meet them. She needs new challenges, and as much as I hate to admit it, he can offer her that. He’s got the bigger gigs, the bigger stages, the bigger audiences, and the more challenging pieces, though I would rather eat a shoe or set myself on fire before ever admitting to that in front of him.”

Tsunade got out of her chair and stalked over to her beloved, overpriced coffee machine before turning around and pointing her index finger at her best friend, glowering, “Now I will have that stuck-up Armani potato sit in the control room, unannounced and unnoticed, listening to our rehearsal as he requested and you will tell no one of this, especially not Sakura.”

The pink-haired cellist was busy packing up her sheet music and her cello when she suddenly heard the booming voice of her maestro calling out to her. “Ms Haruno, would you mind seeing me in my office in five minutes?”

It was a rhetorical question of course, Tsunade didn’t give her time to answer as she was already stalking off the stage. The pink-haired cellist followed the retreating figure of her conductor with a confused gaze, before being distracted by a hand on her shoulder. Turning her head, she was met with the face of another fellow cellist, Amy.

“Great rehearsal today, Sakura. I loved how you played the decrescendo in the end. I was just wondering if you could show me real quick how you do that. It just doesn’t sound quite right with me.”

“Sure, no problem. But I’ll have to be quick. Maestro wants to see me in five minutes.”

Sakura gave it her best to concentrate on Amy’s playing and give her tips, but in her mind, she was already in Tsunade’s office, contemplating what she might have to discuss with her. Their maestro rarely had her musicians come into her office for private talks, she usually said everything she needed to say during rehearsals in front of the entire orchestra.

Biting her bottom lip, she remembered the newspaper article she read this morning. Was it her appearance after her solo? Maybe she did look more dishevelled and ungraceful than she thought. It couldn’t have been her performance; Tsunade herself said how pleased she was and the rave reviews spoke for themselves. So what was it, then?

After finishing with Amy and packing up her things, Sakura made her way to her maestro’s office with a nervous feeling in the pit of her stomach. She could hear hushed voices from afar, one undeniably male, so she remained rooted to the spot, waiting for her conductor’s previous appointment to leave. When she realised the man made no move to vacate Tsunade’s office, she slowly approached it, only to see the doors were opened halfway.

Casting a careful glance into the part of the office that was visible to her, she only saw her conductor and decided to make herself known with a knock on the door.

“Ms Haruno, come in.”

Her maestro hurriedly ushered her into her office and it was then Sakura saw the annoyed expression on her face. Dear God, she really was in trouble.

“Ms Haruno, there’s somebody I would like you to meet,” Tsunade said slowly, her mouth set in a grim line.

Before Sakura could ask what was going on, she could hear a deep baritone behind her. “It is a pleasure to meet you, Ms Haruno.”

Sakura turned around and gasped. Her eyes widened in disbelief and glued themselves reverently to the man in front of her.

“I’m Madara Uchiha.”