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Lucy gazed up at Schroeder from where she lay against his piano. Today she had been uncharacteristically silent, not that she thought he would notice. Schroeder never notices anything except the piano and Beethoven, she thought, a wry smile twisting at her mouth unconsciously. His beautiful, ohsogreen eyes were fixated on the keys as he played, the music filling the otherwise silent small room in which the duo sat in.
"I think I've figured out why you ignore me, Schroeder," Lucy remarked as she moved herself into an upright sitting position. She could see him roll his eyes indiscreetly, as though thinking: What now? Her lion's heart pounds a rhythm of fear within the hollowness of her chest as she bats her eyelashes at him. "It's because I can't play the piano. Isn't it?" A spark of confidence, of a dare, lights up her eyes as she watches Schroeder actually contemplate her theory. Before he can reply, she speaks again. "If I play a tune on your stupid piano, Schroeder, will you stop ignoring me?"
Schroeder's voice, like a musk, scents the air between them. "If you can," he replies as he stands up and walks away from the piano. And for once, Lucy feels like Salome; her grin splits her face wide open. All kings have their one weakness, it's just that most of those revolve around pretty girls. She settles herself into the seat he vacated and makes a show of stretching her arms and fingers. He's just about to tell her to get on with it already when she presses the first key and a song begins to flow from beneath her fingertips. Soft tinkling notes, rapid changes in tempo, and a dramatic crescendo; it is unlike yet like the music Schroeder plays. He finds himself tapping his fingers to the tune against the very spot where her head had formerly been. Oh, but how the tables turn, he thinks, lips curling in amusement.
"Lucy," he says when she finishes with a flourish, "that was actually so impressive. I never knew you could play like that," because he didn't pay attention to her, because he never cared to ask, because the only time he ever sees her is when she's chattering away against his piano. Suddenly he feels shame; how is there so much going on beneath the bossy girl's exterior that he never knew about? "I reckon I might have misjudged you a bit. Perhaps we should hang out a bit?" He leaves it as a question, though he already knows what she'll say.
"Might? A bit?" Lucy teases without heat in her voice. She's still giving him an adoring look. And then the rest of what he says hits her. "You really mean that, Schroeder?" She looks so hopeful; he can't bear to give her any answer other than the one she obviously wants. So he smiles and nods, and she smiles back; a warm, fuzzy feeling encompasses his heart and he thinks: Maybe she wasn't so bad after all.