Popslash: "Note-taking"
Title: Note-taking
Author: Valour
Disclaimer: I do not know these men. I do not pretend to know them. This is all Fiction, people.
Summary: Justin finds his notes in the others.
Feedback: Yes, thank you.
Archiving: Please just ask.
Author's Notes: For JV, who inspires me more than words can say. Thanks to k_leale for the beta. Always above and beyond the call of duty, sweetheart.
He wrote them fast for Chris. Bouncy, but not repetitive, the piano racing ahead of itself, refusing to follow scales, refusing to follow reason. It kept going faster and faster, building to crescendos that Justin could never convince himself to reach. The music he wrote for Chris had no ending, just a constant state of suspense.
For Lance the piano was always responsive and controlled. There was a logic to the careful flow of notes, a semblance of order that Justin could only escape through the odd off beat here and there. But even those seemed almost calculated, almost planned. For Lance the songs ended exactly as they began, adhering to the gentle sloping scale. Everything going according to plan. Except for those too rare notes when it didn’t.
Joey’s songs always came tumbling out of Justin hands, different each time. Always grand and broad and loud. Always with an art, a theatre about them. When Justin sang along in his head, it was always with Frank Sinatra’s voice, always with something more that his fingers and his own voice couldn’t give it. Joey’s music, the little soundtrack Justin gave to him, was as loud, and as colorful as he could make it. It was only half as bright, half as wonderful as Joey. And it changed every time Justin let his fingers walk those keys, because he kept hoping to find the perfect fit.
His hands kept straying to opposite ends of the piano, when Justin let his mind drift to JC. He always seemed to find the darker notes, deep strains of melancholy that he couldn’t escape. But his other hand left a sprinkling of clear high notes, blending the two into some complicated conversation. For JC he could never have the high without the low, the deep and the shallow. The notes seemed painful in their beauty, and like the way his fingers sought new things for Joey, every incarnation of JC’s song had subtle differences, different highlights. For JC it was always the same song, but different moments.
And whenever Justin sat down to the piano, trying to find his own song, he only found the silence.
The notes would only come from the place in his heart where he loved the others.
Author: Valour
Disclaimer: I do not know these men. I do not pretend to know them. This is all Fiction, people.
Summary: Justin finds his notes in the others.
Feedback: Yes, thank you.
Archiving: Please just ask.
Author's Notes: For JV, who inspires me more than words can say. Thanks to k_leale for the beta. Always above and beyond the call of duty, sweetheart.
He wrote them fast for Chris. Bouncy, but not repetitive, the piano racing ahead of itself, refusing to follow scales, refusing to follow reason. It kept going faster and faster, building to crescendos that Justin could never convince himself to reach. The music he wrote for Chris had no ending, just a constant state of suspense.
For Lance the piano was always responsive and controlled. There was a logic to the careful flow of notes, a semblance of order that Justin could only escape through the odd off beat here and there. But even those seemed almost calculated, almost planned. For Lance the songs ended exactly as they began, adhering to the gentle sloping scale. Everything going according to plan. Except for those too rare notes when it didn’t.
Joey’s songs always came tumbling out of Justin hands, different each time. Always grand and broad and loud. Always with an art, a theatre about them. When Justin sang along in his head, it was always with Frank Sinatra’s voice, always with something more that his fingers and his own voice couldn’t give it. Joey’s music, the little soundtrack Justin gave to him, was as loud, and as colorful as he could make it. It was only half as bright, half as wonderful as Joey. And it changed every time Justin let his fingers walk those keys, because he kept hoping to find the perfect fit.
His hands kept straying to opposite ends of the piano, when Justin let his mind drift to JC. He always seemed to find the darker notes, deep strains of melancholy that he couldn’t escape. But his other hand left a sprinkling of clear high notes, blending the two into some complicated conversation. For JC he could never have the high without the low, the deep and the shallow. The notes seemed painful in their beauty, and like the way his fingers sought new things for Joey, every incarnation of JC’s song had subtle differences, different highlights. For JC it was always the same song, but different moments.
And whenever Justin sat down to the piano, trying to find his own song, he only found the silence.
The notes would only come from the place in his heart where he loved the others.