Chapter Text
On a warm Monday evening like today, most students have left the chemistry lab early to enjoy the sun’s refreshing beams. Nothing but rain has pelted the university for a month straight. A welcomed change to most, but for Aesop, the weather’s sudden fluctuation has him concerned over the state of his chemicals. He works with rare elements and expensive equipment, items that can act in a variety of ways to a sudden change in temperature.
The tired student runs around the lab, moving supplies away from the windows and storing them in cabinets. No one’s there to help him. The lab manager left to go for drinks with the other students an hour ago. Aesop never got the invitation. When you’re as anti-social as he is, most just expect you don’t want to go anywhere. Fortunately, he works well on his own. He’s able to tidy up the room in record time and put away the best instruments into his own workspace. If they won’t help him, then he’ll take the subtle sabotage as payment.
As he wipes down his bench with water, the annoying hum of his best friend comes from down the hall. He holds his breath as he waits for the door to fling open with a kick.
“Aesop!” Sings Luca as he welcomes himself into the lab.
“Don’t touch anything, I just cleaned,” Aesop warns him. Luca was about to sit on one of the tables but decides against it. Looking around, he realizes it’s just him again.
“No one stayed to help?” he asks while waiting for Aesop’s nod, “not surprised. They treat you like rubbish here. You should really consider transferring to physics, I swear we’re more fun over there!”
“As much as I appreciate the offer, I like my studies too much. I do important things here,” says Aesop.
“Yeah, yeah, you’re right. At this rate, you’re going to discover the origins of life by the end of the week. I just get sick of seeing you get used. But, if you transferred to my department, then you could make cool things like I do,” says Luca, showing off his latest gadget. The other isn’t sure what it’s supposed to be, but it looks like a compass with a prism attached.
Aesop shrugs, going back to putting away his last vile of methanol. Though the university has an abundance of the chemical, Aesop manages to go through it quickly. It’s just one of the many components he needs in his research. The science of preservation.
“I won’t be able to walk back to our dorms with you today. I have to go to the chapel.”
“Wow, never expected you to turn into the religious type,” replies Luca.
“It’s for a job.”
“A job? What are you, a church boy now? Are you open to confessions?” Luca taunts him.
“Oh, cut it out!” Aesop snaps while clearing his throat, “it’s for the choir. I will be their pianist.”
Luca snorts, then falls into a fit of laughter. The thought of his best friend doing anything in the creative arts seems so unrealistic, so off par to his methodical brain. But Aesop has missed the joke. He stares at the other with raised eyebrows, growing self-conscious of his words.
“Ah, pardon me! I just cannot imagine you in a choir. Do you even listen to music?” says Luca.
“I have been playing piano since I was a young boy. Though, I am a bit out of practice. Do you actually think I’ll be bad?” Aesop slumps into a seat and lets out a loud sigh.
“Oh, Aesop! That’s not what I meant. I’m sorry- I’m just being silly. Go to your new job, I’m sure you’ll be fine,” says Luca.
Aesop’s eyes struggle to look out the window. They’ve grown accustomed to the cloudy weather that’s plagued them for so long. Luca comes up next to him and pats his friend on the back. Sometimes, he plays around too rough. He should know by now that Aesop has a far different sense of humour than he does. Puns and sarcasm only make the grey-haired man scrunch his nose. But that’s what makes them friends. They enjoy how incompatible they are. They met back in their first year, when they were placed as roommates. At first, the mix-up of their sleep schedules led to fights; Luca stayed up late and wouldn’t wake up until noon, whereas Aesop never missed the sunrise. But time heals petty arguments and now they think back to their past with nothing but smiles.
Giving his friend a shy wave goodbye, Aesop grabs his bag and heads out of the lab, trusting Luca to lock it up behind him. With haste to his step, he treads down the old stone hallways and out to the courtyard.
Young students sit on the lawn with groups of friends. Some young lovers share a drink. Others, a daring kiss in the public space. Aesop isn’t sure what to make of his feelings. Unattached, yet a sliver of envy. Perhaps even curiosity. Unfortunately, he’s not much of a people person. Rather, he seems to be better at making people uncomfortable with something as simple as his gaze.
At last, he reaches the cathedral. It’s an old building, at least a couple hundred years in age. It’s also somewhere he’s never entered. But now isn’t the time to dwell on the unknown. He’s already made the commitment to the job. Opening the doors, he’s immediately greeted to an open room with balconies overhead and countless rows of benches.
At the front is a small group of singers, wearing white robes. Four in total, one sticks out just a bit taller than the other three. At first, he thought they were all women. Yet the one in the centre, the taller one with the near-white hair, is not.
“Hello!” Cheers a woman with short brown hair, who waves him over with too much enthusiasm, “you must be our new pianist. My name is Margaretha, but just call me Margie. And you are?”
“My name is Aesop,” he responds, slowly walking down the aisle to the group.
“Well, Mr. Aesop, I’m so glad you are here. Unfortunately, our last pianist was asked to leave after a miserable performance. But you look like an excellent player, look at those long fingers! You will play right here,” says Margie, pointing toward a vintage piano with stained cherrywood and intricate etchings.
He sits down and finds an arrangement of papers on it. Nothing overly difficult, some piece’s that he’s already familiar with. This shouldn’t be so bad, he thinks to himself. For him, playing the piano is nothing but muscle memory.
“Where are my manners?” Margie gasps, “I forgot to introduce the rest! Now, this is not the full choir, but we are the few that get selected for the most leads. To my right is Vera, then Joseph, then Mary,” she points to each of them. Vera has a strong fragrant that clings to her neck. Mary wears bright rouge on her cheeks and has a mischievous smirk to her grin. Joseph, the white-haired one, flashes a quick smile before turning away. His face looks drained as if he hasn’t slept in weeks.
“Nice to meet you all. Shall we go through some drills?” Asks Aesop, mostly to fill up the silence.
“Splendid idea! Yes, I can’t wait to hear you play! I’ll go first since the rest of them are suddenly acting so quiet. I swear, Aesop, they are all usually so much more talkative. Especially Joseph- they don’t call him an eccentric for nothing. It must be the weather,” explains Margie.
Margie clears her throat and with her hand, motions the rest of them to back up. Working with only one vocalist has always been easier. You match to only their voice, not trying to find a middle ground that compliments a range. He rolls around his wrist and readies his hands. Making eye contact with the thin woman, he leads her in with a simple major scale.
To his surprise, her sound is deeper than what you would expect from such a thin frame. Not that he finds that to be a bad. Unique voices are refreshing, especially when every artist is trained to sound the same. He plays to her for three octaves.
“You have an amazing voice,” Aesop tells her.
“Oh! Do you mean it?” She says while blushing wildly. Then, she shuffles Aesop’s papers and takes out a sheet labelled Joseph. “This is supposed to be a song only sang by him, but why not give it a shot? This way, Joseph will be able to see if he enjoys you, our new partner.”
“Margie, don’t you think that’s a bit rough? It’s a difficult piece to play,” says Vera.
“Let him do it,” Joseph interjects. “I want to hear him play.”
Aesop gives a quick scan of the sheet. It’ll be tricky as it’s an original piece, yet he’s certain he’ll be able to pull it off. After enough practice with music theory, you begin to notice patterns. He asks for a minute, and Margie happily obliges. Meanwhile, the other three wait on edge, tapping their fingers. They see it as a test, Aesop sees this as no more than just a way to make money.
Just like before, he leads Margie in with ease. His brain blanks out after that. When he plays, he loses himself to a dream world, a place far removed from reality. But this song is more vivid than anything else he’s had the pleasure to hear before. It sparks something in him; a remembrance to his love for music. Such a piece challenges him. Bouncing from vivace to lento, his fingers graze each key. So much life, a song filled with melancholy and yearning, yet a thread of hope pieces it all together.
He’s brought back to the present by the only other man in the room, who is suddenly drawn toward the two performers. As Margie finishes her last note, Joseph comes to rest on the side of the piano.
“You play it better than I do,” Joseph comments.
“It’s a beautiful piece. Do you know the composer?” Asks Aesop.
“Yes, but I wouldn’t say I know him well.”
“Do you at least know his name?”
“It’s me,” says Joseph.
Aesop chokes on his words and lets out a quick cough. Someone so brilliant to write such a piece is standing right in front of him. He’s too young to create this timeless work. The pianist’s hands shake. He sees stars.
“You made yourself a song? Surely you must be an angel lost on his way to perform to the gods,” Aesop trembles.
Joseph sighs in disagreement, “if you consider the audiences that come to see me as heavenly, then we’ll be at odds.”
“Audiences come to hear what you write? How come I’ve never heard of you before?” Asks Aesop.
“They come for my voice. I shouldn’t waste time writing music anymore.”
“Don’t inflate his ego. He has more than enough to brag about already,” says Mary.
Aesop hears her, but can’t stop reading over the piece in front of him. He’s in awe.
“How about you call it a day, Aesop? We’ve already practiced more than enough,” offers Vera.
At last, he snaps out of his daze and passes the papers back to Joseph. He feels tempted to kiss his hands. They hold a gift he wishes he possessed. Joseph takes them, but doesn’t know where to place his work. A bit of him wants to hand them back to Aesop, to let him keep practicing. Yet he’s grown shy. Hopefully, come their next practice, he’ll have the courage to gift him these pages.
“Alright. When will we meet again?” Asks Aesop.
“Every other day, at this same time,” says Vera.
“Very well. I will see you all then,” replies Aesop, getting up and heading out.
When the door shuts behind him, Joseph is finally able to let go of the breath he didn’t know he was holding. His mind buzzes. Hands twitch. Then, he sits down on the piano and tries to hammer through the piece himself. But he has no flow and stumbles quickly. It comes out choppy, emotionless, distant. He tries again, then again, until Mary has to pull him off the instrument.
“Why do you keep practicing? We got you a new pianist, was he not enough?” She asks him.
“No- he was more than enough. Mary, why can I not play my own song like him? I have been training since before I could walk. There’s no excuse for my inability!” He nearly shouts.
“Calm down, you’re just tired. I think you’ve been practicing too much,” she consoles.
“You have it all wrong. I must keep working. I’ve heard the sound of dreams,” he gets up, tossing the papers into the air, “it’s all come back to me- my love for music. That Aesop, is he my muse?”
She sighs, “you make no sense.”
“Then let me be a disaster, I don’t crave rationality anyways.”
With that, Joseph scoops up the papers from the ground and holds them tight to his chest while escorting himself to the back of the chapel, where some music rooms are set up. The other three wait on the benches, drinking water and doing stretches. They plan to have a little picnic. Though they were going to invite Joseph, none of them believe he’s in the right state of mind.
“He’s acting stranger than usual,” Vera points out.
Margie shrugs, “pressure is getting to him. Do you girls think Aesop seriously did not recognize him? He acts way different than our last pianist.”
“He’s definitely not one of his fanboys. I’m certain he hasn’t a clue,” replies Mary.
Their last pianist was a young woman who could never keep herself focused, for being in the presence of the city’s famed soprano made her lightheaded. People from all over Europe come to hear him sing. But Mary is right, Aesop has never even heard his title before. For what he knows, Joseph is just a better-than-average choir man who composes wonderous music.
Aesop and Joseph have long since retreated to their own spaces, going back to their usual routines. Yet, despite being on opposite sides of campus, the one thing they can’t get out of their minds is each other.