[As soon as his hand touches the parchment, he ought to feel it: a soft rush of warmth and affection spreading outwards from the page, a secret that delights in being shared. It's unmistakable.
It's love.
The sheet music is covered in adjustments and corrections, notes transcribed and erased and re-written, two sets of handwriting peppering the margins, neat printed text alongside a scrawling cursive. The top of the page has half a dozen titles, most of them scratched out, the final one still with a question mark attached, undecided and ultimately irrelevant.
And as his eyes scan the page, the room bleeds into a memory-]
-------------
The sound of scales, rising and falling in tandem, from violin and piano fill the air of the music room, simple and predictable practice. Note, pause, note, pause, note, pause, note, pause, an unspoken agreement obviously made of when to shift and how, until- BRRRRNGHH goes a single piano note out of order, and the violin shrieks to a halt.
"Aw, shit, my bad," a heavyset, middle-aged man in glasses grimaces, lifting his hands into the air and away from the piano as a surrendering gesture. "Sorry, Lup."
Lup drops the violin from her chin to giggle at him, tucking it under her arm. "Were you looking for a key in the next room over, bud?"
"Nah, just- clumsy thumbs, I think." He gives them a wiggle. "Or just nerves. Feels like we've been at this for ages and I still have no idea what I'm doin' here."
She considers him for a moment, taking in the way he fidgets, the obviously nervous lilt in his tone, then she sets down her violin and walks over to him, plopping down onto the bench at his side. "Here." She takes his hands, resting them against the keys, and softly shifts his fingers into position before resting her own on the opposite end of the piano. "You and Magnus both- you love to hit hard, and I get it, but this is art, not fighting. Relax your fingers, be gentle with those ivories. They didn't do squat to deserve the beating you're trying to give 'em. The notes'll come easier and you'll move faster, too."
They work through a fresh set of scales, and he watches her hands move over the keys rather than his own; as they play in tandem, one high and one low, the synchronization is back, same as it had been with the violin, but softer this time. His hands on the keys are gentle, and very soon his posture relaxes, too. The tension between his shoulders ease, the crease of his brow irons out. And Lup? She's... warm. As she moves her hands their arms brush together, and the distance when they move away again is palpable, uncomfortably so. It's difficult to focus on moving from note to note but she pushes through, trying not to linger on these feelings and what they imply. This is still the mission. It's always been the mission.
When they stop she finds him staring at her, a confused and awe-struck gaze that she meets for barely a second or two before dropping her eyes, oddly self-conscious at his scrutiny. "Lup...?"
She moves her hands away from the keys, toying with her hair instead, fixing some unseen out-of-place lock of it as she attempts an explanation. "...There was... this one caravan Taako and I traveled with, for like, half a year- they landed a long gig in some town and decided to set up a whole tavern instead of using the wagons. They ran nightly performances, Taako did his thing in the kitchen, and I tried my hand at bartending and bouncing for a while." She gives the air a few playful mock-jabs- to make it clear that bouncing was the much bigger draw for her. "On quiet nights I spent a lot of time watching the band, mostly the guy on piano. We got talking, and he showed me how."
He opens his mouth, as if to ask something, then stops to reconsider, opting instead with, "Wait, wait, wait. If you already knew the basics, why didn't you pick piano? You'd be ahead of the game here, and if we wanna get the light..."
He trails off as she shakes her head, lip curving upwards. "Gimme your hand." When he holds it up, she presses her palm against his, fingers stretched up towards his own, and her tips barely reach halfway. He's always been a big guy, but his expression is still somewhat surprised when he sees how much his hand dwarfs her own. "You've got piano hands, my dude. Mine are too small, can't really go from one end to the other. Doesn't suit me."
She lets her hand linger against his; suddenly and inexplicably, she's reluctant to move away from that point of contact. He's redfaced and stunned until she snaps out of it and pulls back, at which point he stammers, "Th-that's not true. Elise, that girl always fighting with me over practice times- she's got tiny hands and she plays just fine."
"You noticed her hands? Got your eyes on her, do ya?" she quirks a brow at him, and when he stutters a protest she laughs and leans in, bumping against him playfully. "Relax, I'm just razzing you. I know I could play- it's a convenient excuse." She uses one hand to slowly play another upward scale along the white keys. "I like the violin. The piano's... too big. I wanted something I could take with me, to remember moments like this."
She smiles up at him, and after a moment, his cheeks pink, he tentatively smiles back.
-------------
Months later they stand at the center of a beautiful, ornate white stage, dressed to the nines, he at a grand piano and Lup with her violin. They play a love song, a duet, and every note is perfect and practiced, synchronized as if they'd been doing this their entire lives, as if this is what they were born for. The sound echoes through the valley surrounding their stage and the audience watching is silent, attentive and in awe of the music they've crafted together. When they finish the noise of cheering is practically deafening, and when he takes her hand in his, she very suddenly realizes that she never wants him to let go.
And when he doesn't let go, she realizes that he wants that, too.
-------------
[As the memory fades, the top of the page has a title now, no more scratched out words, no more question marks. Written in the elegant curve, in Elvish, are the words, "Hello, Love" for those who can read the language. The signatures of Barry J. Bluejeans and Lup are beneath it.]
music sheet
It's love.
The sheet music is covered in adjustments and corrections, notes transcribed and erased and re-written, two sets of handwriting peppering the margins, neat printed text alongside a scrawling cursive. The top of the page has half a dozen titles, most of them scratched out, the final one still with a question mark attached, undecided and ultimately irrelevant.
And as his eyes scan the page, the room bleeds into a memory-]
The sound of scales, rising and falling in tandem, from violin and piano fill the air of the music room, simple and predictable practice. Note, pause, note, pause, note, pause, note, pause, an unspoken agreement obviously made of when to shift and how, until- BRRRRNGHH goes a single piano note out of order, and the violin shrieks to a halt.
"Aw, shit, my bad," a heavyset, middle-aged man in glasses grimaces, lifting his hands into the air and away from the piano as a surrendering gesture. "Sorry, Lup."
Lup drops the violin from her chin to giggle at him, tucking it under her arm. "Were you looking for a key in the next room over, bud?"
"Nah, just- clumsy thumbs, I think." He gives them a wiggle. "Or just nerves. Feels like we've been at this for ages and I still have no idea what I'm doin' here."
She considers him for a moment, taking in the way he fidgets, the obviously nervous lilt in his tone, then she sets down her violin and walks over to him, plopping down onto the bench at his side. "Here." She takes his hands, resting them against the keys, and softly shifts his fingers into position before resting her own on the opposite end of the piano. "You and Magnus both- you love to hit hard, and I get it, but this is art, not fighting. Relax your fingers, be gentle with those ivories. They didn't do squat to deserve the beating you're trying to give 'em. The notes'll come easier and you'll move faster, too."
They work through a fresh set of scales, and he watches her hands move over the keys rather than his own; as they play in tandem, one high and one low, the synchronization is back, same as it had been with the violin, but softer this time. His hands on the keys are gentle, and very soon his posture relaxes, too. The tension between his shoulders ease, the crease of his brow irons out. And Lup? She's... warm. As she moves her hands their arms brush together, and the distance when they move away again is palpable, uncomfortably so. It's difficult to focus on moving from note to note but she pushes through, trying not to linger on these feelings and what they imply. This is still the mission. It's always been the mission.
When they stop she finds him staring at her, a confused and awe-struck gaze that she meets for barely a second or two before dropping her eyes, oddly self-conscious at his scrutiny. "Lup...?"
She moves her hands away from the keys, toying with her hair instead, fixing some unseen out-of-place lock of it as she attempts an explanation. "...There was... this one caravan Taako and I traveled with, for like, half a year- they landed a long gig in some town and decided to set up a whole tavern instead of using the wagons. They ran nightly performances, Taako did his thing in the kitchen, and I tried my hand at bartending and bouncing for a while." She gives the air a few playful mock-jabs- to make it clear that bouncing was the much bigger draw for her. "On quiet nights I spent a lot of time watching the band, mostly the guy on piano. We got talking, and he showed me how."
He opens his mouth, as if to ask something, then stops to reconsider, opting instead with, "Wait, wait, wait. If you already knew the basics, why didn't you pick piano? You'd be ahead of the game here, and if we wanna get the light..."
He trails off as she shakes her head, lip curving upwards. "Gimme your hand." When he holds it up, she presses her palm against his, fingers stretched up towards his own, and her tips barely reach halfway. He's always been a big guy, but his expression is still somewhat surprised when he sees how much his hand dwarfs her own. "You've got piano hands, my dude. Mine are too small, can't really go from one end to the other. Doesn't suit me."
She lets her hand linger against his; suddenly and inexplicably, she's reluctant to move away from that point of contact. He's redfaced and stunned until she snaps out of it and pulls back, at which point he stammers, "Th-that's not true. Elise, that girl always fighting with me over practice times- she's got tiny hands and she plays just fine."
"You noticed her hands? Got your eyes on her, do ya?" she quirks a brow at him, and when he stutters a protest she laughs and leans in, bumping against him playfully. "Relax, I'm just razzing you. I know I could play- it's a convenient excuse." She uses one hand to slowly play another upward scale along the white keys. "I like the violin. The piano's... too big. I wanted something I could take with me, to remember moments like this."
She smiles up at him, and after a moment, his cheeks pink, he tentatively smiles back.
Months later they stand at the center of a beautiful, ornate white stage, dressed to the nines, he at a grand piano and Lup with her violin. They play a love song, a duet, and every note is perfect and practiced, synchronized as if they'd been doing this their entire lives, as if this is what they were born for. The sound echoes through the valley surrounding their stage and the audience watching is silent, attentive and in awe of the music they've crafted together. When they finish the noise of cheering is practically deafening, and when he takes her hand in his, she very suddenly realizes that she never wants him to let go.
And when he doesn't let go, she realizes that he wants that, too.
[As the memory fades, the top of the page has a title now, no more scratched out words, no more question marks. Written in the elegant curve, in Elvish, are the words, "Hello, Love" for those who can read the language. The signatures of Barry J. Bluejeans and Lup are beneath it.]