Chapter Text
Schroeder considered himself a very giving person. After all, nobody showered Lucy with gifts quite like he did.
“Concert tonight, Lucy?” Patty asked.
Lucy nodded, rolling her code into the locker until it clicked open. “Will you be—” as her door swung open, a flood of petals and flowers tumbled over her books and onto the floor. She sighed and shut her locker.
“You should really just go out with him already.” Patty shook her head.
“Don’t start.” Lucy grunted, picking a pink petal off her blouse.
“I’m serious, Lucy. Schroeder’s smart, handsome— and so loyal. You don’t get that in guys very often.”
“You don’t get it, Patty,” Lucy pushed aside a plump, black curl to peer at the surrounding students before murmuring, “He’s too much. He can be… I don’t know.”
“What?” Patty urged.
“Well, for one, I never told him my locker code,” she huffed.
“So what? He’s observant. Come on Lucy, you know I’d kill to have a man look at me the way Schroeder looks at you.” Only when Schroeder came up in conversation did Patty look at a Lucy like she was some sort of alien.
“Are you coming to my performance tonight?” Lucy asked, quick to move on. Schroeder seemed to consume her whole life. He was around every corner, being spoken about by all her friends, hell even Linus talked about him like an older brother. Soon enough her own parents would be giving their consent for him to be her husband. The only time she was free of him was in sleep (so you can imagine what she considered nightmares).
“Of course I’m coming. I don’t want you dealing with any creepers again.” Ironic.
“It was a one-time thing, Patty.” Lucy waved her off. “I’m going to head to class. I’ll see you after school.”
It was easy to give Lucy things, Schroeder had already given her his whole heart, so what were a few bouquets compared to that?
“Hello, lovely Lucy.” Schroeder bumped her side lightly, smiling his stupidly perfect smile at her.
“Can’t you take a break from the nicknames, Schroeder?”
“What’s in it for me, lovely Lucy?”
“I’ll find you more bearable.” She gritted.
“Alright, alright. Only for the day, though.”
She didn’t bother with a ‘thank you.’ “By the way,” Schroeder dug around in the pocket of his black pants and pulled out a black hair tie. “This is yours.”
She peered at it suspiciously, “No it’s not.”
“You left it in the music room after your practice. You always tie your hair up when you tune your violin. You end up leaving them behind all the time.”
Sickeningly, her stomach fluttered. If his attention to detail wasn’t so sweetly disarming, she might have considered that he watched her too closely sometimes. She internally blamed Patty for putting the idea Schroeder was just an attentive lover into her head. She shook away any soft feelings.
“I don’t want it,” she muttered.
Schroeder shrugged, sliding the hair tie down his wrist until it disappeared underneath his purple cuff. “Suit yourself.”
Why did Schroeder always manage to find her, especially when her classes were far across campus? She was starting to feel cursed—if a walk took more than five minutes, he was bound to appear at her side.
She cast a glance his way, eyes drifting up the sharp lines of his pressed pants, then to his neatly ironed shirt, the top two buttons undone at his collar. “He’s observant.” Patty’s voice rung in her mind. “I’d kill to have a man look at me the way Schroeder looks at you.” By the time her gaze reached his face, his blue eyes were already on her, amusement flickering in them
She’d been caught staring.
“A—Are you coming to my performance tonight or not?” She blurted out.
“I am.” Schroeder grinned, holding his hands behind his back.
“Then I’ll see you there.” She dismissed.
“Alright,” Schroeder shrugged.
“Alright!” Heels tapping with twice as much ferociousness, Lucy quickened her pace and left Schroeder in the dust of her embarrassment.
He’d consider that interaction a win.
You see, Lucy was shy, that was all. Shy and pigheaded, which lead to her being easily embarrassed. That's why she was so unnerved by his gift giving. Or— that’s what Schroeder told himself. Her ‘shyness’ never hindered him, though. He was going to slowly— but surely— crack at her weak armour until she let him inside.
Classes dragged on without a fuss and as the clock ticked to the third hour Lucy began to feel the familiar itch in her hands, eager to play her violin. So when the school bell rung out, she was quick to avoid any idle chatter with her friends and head straight to the music room. Surprisingly, Schroeder didn’t catch up to her for the walk.
Once Lucy reached the music room, she exhaled deeply. The scent of polished wood and dust filled the air, familiar and grounding. She wasted no time retrieving her violin and slipping backstage to practise, leaving the muffled chatter of students behind.
It was two hours until family members would file in to watch the performances. It was plenty of time for Lucy to polish her already outstanding performance.
Setting the instrument beneath her chin, Lucy dragged her bow across the strings and instead of a sweet melody that would melt away the days stressors, broken notes rung out.
She tensed. Her violin had never sounded so out of tune.
Lucy frowned deeply, adjusting the pegs with a delicate frustration. Another test—another discordant screech. Her stomach twisted. She had checked the tuning just this morning; it had been perfect.
“Lucy, we need your help setting up,” a teacher called.
She internally grunted. She placed her violin down with lingering fingers on its polished surfaced as though she was leaving a dear friend.
The music hall bustled with activity as people shuffled chairs, adjusted stands and tested the stage lights. Lucy busied herself with arranging programs on the front table, though her thoughts remained tangled in the unease of her instrument’s sudden disrepair.
Each time she attempted to slide backstage, another task was thrown her way.
“Lucy, would you adjust the chairs?”
“Lucille, could you stand on stage while we check the lights?”
Lucy hadn’t realised how much time had passed until she saw Linus excitedly waving at her through the glass entrance doors. Her breath quickly hitched. The audience was already arriving.
She muttered a quick excuse and hurried backstage.
When she arrived to her beloved instrument, she couldn’t shake the rushed feeling that made her fingers twitch. The violin weighed heavy on her chest.
She focused on the strings, twisting the pegs with careful precision. The notes rang out, but each one seemed to amplify her anxiety, reverberating against the walls in a mocking tune that reminded her of the impending performance.
Her eyes screwed shut and her brows furrowed tightly. Her large, black curls coiled uncomfortably around her neck and she pushed the hairs away with little patience.
Now, the crew were returning backstage, filling into the once quiet room and chatting amongst themselves.
“I’ve been practicing ages for tonight.”
“Should we tell her that man is back?”
“My Mum’s gonna be here tonight, I’m so nervous.”
Her tight grip slipped, and the bow squeaked against the string.
And then—
“Schroeder, can you put the pedal over there?”
A new kind of flustered irritation boiled in her chest. Of course. Of course he was here! Schroeder leaked into all the cracks of her life.
Her eyes snapped open and there he was, helping Franklin assemble his drum set like he innocently belonged there.
He caught her stare quickly and simply he waved to her, then smiled. A quick wave followed, as if he hadn’t just sent her further into pre-performance jitters.
With a grunt, she shut her eyes and willed herself to focus. She needed to focus. To focus. A curl flopped forward, coiling around her chin and neck.
Her mouth began moving before she could stop it.
“Schroeder I need—”
There was her hair tie, in his outstretched hand. Paired with it was a knowing, sleazy grin. It was infuriating.
Lucy snatched the hair tie.
She pulled her waves of hair into a ponytail, snapping the band into place with unnecessary force. Schroeder didn’t move. He just stood there, watching her, smiling like he’d won something.
Lucy barely had time to huff at his arrogance before he took a step closer.
She could smell him—clean cologne and something faintly earthy. His presence was suffocating and yet familiar, as if he belonged in her space.
After a moment, he reached out, fingers barely grazing the end of a stray strand resting against her shoulder. It wasn’t a grip. It wasn’t even really a touch. But it might as well have been a hand wrapped around her throat.
“You’ll do great tonight.”
She froze.
It wasn’t the words. It was the way he said them—like they weren’t some casual, throwaway line. Like he knew exactly how much she needed to hear it.
And that was the worst gift of all.
Because it was the one gift she couldn’t throw away.