fic: now you see her, now (ten notes on music school)
Title: now you see her, now (ten notes on music school)
Author: azuredamsel
Ratings/Warnings: PG.
Word Count: 737
Summary: 'We're musicians,' she says, 'We were born masochists.'
Author’s Notes: For anti-social-ite. She's a winner. I hope you enjoy? ♥
10
'Sometimes,' she says, lips already twitching into a grin, 'I think I disappear on closer inspection.'
'Oh?' He hasn't known her that long. Still. He's not rising to the bait.
'Y'know, when you say hi and nobody notices? And it goes on for a string of fifty people, all looking straight through you?'
He snorts, picks up his glass of water.
'See? It's never happened to you?' Her voice is rising, somewhere between indignant and amused.
He swallows the water. 'Maybe you're saying it too softly.'
'Well, what makes people invisible?'
She's always asking questions like that.
9
'He shouldn't have yelled at you in rehearsal,' she says when he's putting his clarinet away. 'It was a new mouthpiece.'
'That's not an excuse.'
'Switching mouthpieces is a bitch.' She shifts the oboe case on her shoulders.
'Not like you'd know.' He smiles to let her know he's kidding, but he's facing down. She can't see.
'Well.' The word shades off into a sigh, an extended l trailing off into silence.
He looks up. She's walking the other way.
8
She's working the Ligeti quintet when he knocks on her practice room window. She doesn't turn.
He opens the door anyway.
'Are floor meetings tonight?'
She flinches, then wrinkles her forehead. 'I think so?'
'I'll ask around, then.' He's kinda fishing around for an excuse to stay in here.
'Good plan.' She's already turning back to the music.
In the hall, he realizes he should've said she sounded amazing good.
It's the kind of thing she'd tell him.
7
'The salad's the only really good thing here.' There's a slight clatter of cutlery as her tray meets the table, just across from him.
'So you got a slice of pizza instead?' They've long gotten over the word hello.
'We're musicians,' she says, 'We were born masochists.'
6
He's working on some excerpts (Stravinsky and Rachmaninoff) and he takes a breath and her face is peering in his practice room.
She gives him a thumbs up.
And then she walks away.
When he's done practicing (for now), he can hear the Mozart oboe concerto from the next room over. But when he walks up to the window, she doesn't look up.
He gives her a thumbs up anyway.
5
It's raining and, running back from a quintet rehearsal, he doesn't notice her at first.
'Today's a Chopin kind of day,' she says from over his shoulder. They're waiting at a red light.
'Or a rainy one.' Sometimes it's tiring talking about music all the time.
'I played Barber in the rain, once, and it was gorgeous.' Her voice has gone all soft, like she's not particularly paying attention to him.
And it's weird, because the timbre of her voice kind of fits in with the sound of the rain hitting the sidewalk.
'For orchestra and rain?'
The light turns green.
'Yeah. But today's more of a Chopin day. Just a solo piano.' She swats at a strand of wet hair.
Their feet make little squelching noises against the pavement.
4
'Do you ever wonder what you'll do after this?' He's left his door open and her voice comes from the threshold before he turns his head.
'Most of the time.'
'Does it scare you?' Her voice trembles, just a little. She'd probably deny that if he mentioned it.
'There's a whole world out there,' he says, turning his face towards her.
And then, because he can just make out the slight glint of tears in her eyes, he nods his head up and down.
It's just enough.
3
He's just about to be late for theory (it's been one of those mornings) and he catches sight of her disappearing into an elevator, her oboe slung over her shoulder.
And he thinks about ditching theory.
This is pretty much a daily occurrence, though.
2
'The food's not bad tonight.' He's getting used to it, anyway.
'The salad's always good,' she says, smiling as she spears a hunk of lettuce with her fork.
He's torn between a witty remark and a grin.
She smiles back and he figures it was the right decision.
1
He's looking for a practice room and there's the Mozart oboe concerto.
And he walks by -- it has to be her -- and it is and she catches his eye.
He opens the door.
'You know that thing you said about being invisible? A while back?' He's not entirely sure where this is going.
'When you didn't believe me?' She's not looking at him. She's fiddling with her reed.
'But the thing is,' he says, focusing on the piece of wall right in front of him, 'you're not invisible. I can see you.'
'Oh?' And she's looking straight at him. He could swear she's smiling.
And.
'Hey,' he says, taking a step towards her.
Author: azuredamsel
Ratings/Warnings: PG.
Word Count: 737
Summary: 'We're musicians,' she says, 'We were born masochists.'
Author’s Notes: For anti-social-ite. She's a winner. I hope you enjoy? ♥
10
'Sometimes,' she says, lips already twitching into a grin, 'I think I disappear on closer inspection.'
'Oh?' He hasn't known her that long. Still. He's not rising to the bait.
'Y'know, when you say hi and nobody notices? And it goes on for a string of fifty people, all looking straight through you?'
He snorts, picks up his glass of water.
'See? It's never happened to you?' Her voice is rising, somewhere between indignant and amused.
He swallows the water. 'Maybe you're saying it too softly.'
'Well, what makes people invisible?'
She's always asking questions like that.
9
'He shouldn't have yelled at you in rehearsal,' she says when he's putting his clarinet away. 'It was a new mouthpiece.'
'That's not an excuse.'
'Switching mouthpieces is a bitch.' She shifts the oboe case on her shoulders.
'Not like you'd know.' He smiles to let her know he's kidding, but he's facing down. She can't see.
'Well.' The word shades off into a sigh, an extended l trailing off into silence.
He looks up. She's walking the other way.
8
She's working the Ligeti quintet when he knocks on her practice room window. She doesn't turn.
He opens the door anyway.
'Are floor meetings tonight?'
She flinches, then wrinkles her forehead. 'I think so?'
'I'll ask around, then.' He's kinda fishing around for an excuse to stay in here.
'Good plan.' She's already turning back to the music.
In the hall, he realizes he should've said she sounded amazing good.
It's the kind of thing she'd tell him.
7
'The salad's the only really good thing here.' There's a slight clatter of cutlery as her tray meets the table, just across from him.
'So you got a slice of pizza instead?' They've long gotten over the word hello.
'We're musicians,' she says, 'We were born masochists.'
6
He's working on some excerpts (Stravinsky and Rachmaninoff) and he takes a breath and her face is peering in his practice room.
She gives him a thumbs up.
And then she walks away.
When he's done practicing (for now), he can hear the Mozart oboe concerto from the next room over. But when he walks up to the window, she doesn't look up.
He gives her a thumbs up anyway.
5
It's raining and, running back from a quintet rehearsal, he doesn't notice her at first.
'Today's a Chopin kind of day,' she says from over his shoulder. They're waiting at a red light.
'Or a rainy one.' Sometimes it's tiring talking about music all the time.
'I played Barber in the rain, once, and it was gorgeous.' Her voice has gone all soft, like she's not particularly paying attention to him.
And it's weird, because the timbre of her voice kind of fits in with the sound of the rain hitting the sidewalk.
'For orchestra and rain?'
The light turns green.
'Yeah. But today's more of a Chopin day. Just a solo piano.' She swats at a strand of wet hair.
Their feet make little squelching noises against the pavement.
4
'Do you ever wonder what you'll do after this?' He's left his door open and her voice comes from the threshold before he turns his head.
'Most of the time.'
'Does it scare you?' Her voice trembles, just a little. She'd probably deny that if he mentioned it.
'There's a whole world out there,' he says, turning his face towards her.
And then, because he can just make out the slight glint of tears in her eyes, he nods his head up and down.
It's just enough.
3
He's just about to be late for theory (it's been one of those mornings) and he catches sight of her disappearing into an elevator, her oboe slung over her shoulder.
And he thinks about ditching theory.
This is pretty much a daily occurrence, though.
2
'The food's not bad tonight.' He's getting used to it, anyway.
'The salad's always good,' she says, smiling as she spears a hunk of lettuce with her fork.
He's torn between a witty remark and a grin.
She smiles back and he figures it was the right decision.
1
He's looking for a practice room and there's the Mozart oboe concerto.
And he walks by -- it has to be her -- and it is and she catches his eye.
He opens the door.
'You know that thing you said about being invisible? A while back?' He's not entirely sure where this is going.
'When you didn't believe me?' She's not looking at him. She's fiddling with her reed.
'But the thing is,' he says, focusing on the piece of wall right in front of him, 'you're not invisible. I can see you.'
'Oh?' And she's looking straight at him. He could swear she's smiling.
And.
'Hey,' he says, taking a step towards her.