(Untitled)

[teenagerenegade]

For as long as Charlie Bartlett can remember, there's been music. His mom always used to play and, when he was four, he'd had his first piano lesson, learning to play chopsticks with his feet swinging. After his dad went to prison, his mom had played less and less and the piano had become Charlie's. His mom used to leave him notes there because

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[not_for_ages]

Freddie's so often felt like crying since he arrived on the island, it's a little startling to find someone else doing it. Almost as startling as it is that there's a grand piano blocking the pathway.

He stops at the other end of the glossy black instrument and waits until Charlie's finished to speak.

"Alright there, mate?" he asks, eyebrows drawn together with concern.

[teenagerenegade]

"Yeah," says Charlie, clearing his throat and actually managing a smile as he wipes his face with the heel of his hands. He plays another ruffle of notes and huffs a laugh through his nose.

"Yeah, I'm okay."

[not_for_ages]

A leaf spins down from the canopy and falls to rest upon the piano's top. Freddie reaches nimble fingers out and plucks it away, careful not to touch the glassy black sheen, afraid he'll smudge it.

"Does this, um, happen often?" he slowly asks, and then hastily clarifies, "Musical instruments blocking the path, not-" He motions helplessly Charlie's way in lieu of finishing the thought.

[teenagerenegade]

"Not so much with musical instruments," says Charlie, brushing his fingers against the keys, running through the fingering for a jazz piece his mom always liked.

"But stuff from home? Yeah, that happens a lot. This is one of the nicer things."

[not_for_ages]

"So this is yours?" Freddie asks, and he couldn't say why he's surprised about that. If a piano's going to appear out of nowhere, might as well be where the owner can find it. "Could've chosen a more convenient place to have it pop in."

Fortunately, the island seemed to have a surplus of well fit men capable of carrying a grand piano wherever it needed to go. Unfortunately, Freddie was not one of them.

[teenagerenegade]

"Yeah, it's mine Well, it was my mom's first, but I learned to play on it and she doesn't really play it anymore." The jazz piece is one of the ones that he's been playing for years. He huffs a laugh through his nose and sques into Yankee Doodle.

"Yeah," he says. "It's going to be a bitch to move."

[not_for_ages]

Reverence blows into the moment, warm and a little unsteadying, and Freddie swallows back the sudden lump in his throat.

"She isn't here? Your mum?" he gently asks, and can't imagine why he'd assumed that was the case last time Charlie mentioned her.

[teenagerenegade]

"She's at home?" says Charlie, voice steady but quiet, a little nod as though to anchor himself. "I saw her, a couple of times - island stuff? Not always good." He shrugs. "The piano is good? It'll...it's kind of like being close to her, you know?"

[not_for_ages]

"Yeah," Freddie agrees with a solemn nod, and moves to take a seat beside Charlie on the edge of the bench.

"My mum died," he admits, and slides one finger along the top of a smooth ivory key. "Years ago now. I wish I had something of hers here."

[teenagerenegade]

"Shit," says Charlie, glancing across, because that's the kind of thing that's sure to make him feel like an asshole. He bites his lip. "I'm sorry, man. Something of hers might turn up, you know? There's no rhyme or reason to anything that happens around here."