Chapter Text
He was an artist; some would say.
Calloused hands with paper cuts and thin unnoticed bruising along knobby joints and flushed tan knuckles. He strung gold and silver lines when his gently rough hands met guitar strings and piano keys. He wasn’t a prodigy. He worked for every note and chord, and every broken flat and pitchy sharp.
He played in the downtown square every Wednesday and Saturday night. He’d bring a battered up guitar and wear an old dirty apron to collect tips from middle-aged men in the working class, and wide eyed children with a spare dollar bill from the tooth fairy. Sometimes he’d sing and dance with the said children, he was always good with children, and sometimes he’d lethargically pluck and strum intricate chords as he sat on brick lain floors. He always refused the park benches, insisting that there were people that needed them more than he did.
In the winter, the square had a piano that was open to the community as long as you didn’t break it, and surely enough, the locals always left it open two nights a week for everyone’s favorite musician. He’d come and play etudes and christmas carols, filling silence with light and smiles, as his fingers pressed methodically on top of monochromatic keys. Couples would pass by and share a warm knowing smile, and hard working mothers would give a cheer and leave small bags and bins of freshly baked pastries and cookies on his guitar case for him.
Some say he was the one that made the community.
But after the shows and songs were over, he’d simply disappear. He wasn’t remarkably popular, just familiar. When he wasn’t entertaining the community with his musical magic, he worked a simple job at a small restaurant, owned by a couple friends.
Beef’s life was comfortable. He got to play music for people, and that’s all he’d ever really wanted, so he was happy.
-
It was a late December night, nearly 1 in the morning, and Beef may or may not have gotten a little bit carried away in his list as he finished the last song for the night. There was a small crowd standing around him, they all clapped accordingly and gave small cheers and bid farewells and goodnights as they left tips and headed home. Beef waved off a familiar couple before reaching for his water bottle and sparing a glance at the tips that sat on top of his opened guitar case.
His attentioned panned upwards as a fifty dollar bill made contact with the small pile of tips, his blue eyes shooting wide in a subtle shock.
He opened his mouth to make a quick thank you, but the gifter was already speaking, “Beethoven’s Fur Elise?” His voice was soft and light hearted as they made eye contact, and his mismatched eyes were patient with a simple stroke of interest. Beef didn’t recognise him, perhaps he was just someone passing through on this late Saturday -now Sunday- and just so happened to overhear his performance. It took Beef a solid 30 seconds to realize that the stranger was asking what song he had just finished playing, and nodded with something akin to embarrassment the moment the words finally registered in his head.
“Thank you for the 50- but I can’t take a tip this big, I’d feel too guilty.” He picked the dollar up in his hand and reached to give it back to the other.
But the stranger simply readjusted his black face mask and shook his head as he shuffled back a step or two, “Think of it as an early Christmas gift.” If Beef could see the stranger’s face, he’d probably see a slanted grin, but since he couldn’t, he opted to just imagine a smile as the stranger quickly waved and darted off with a slight hop in his step.
Beef stood there for another moment before folding the dollar neatly and tucking it into his apron with a set of dollar bills from earlier that night. He smiled fondly before starting to pack up his stuff and sliding a tarp onto the piano for the night.
‘Well that was kind of him.’
-
Beef’s day job consisted of him busy in a kitchen with the rhythmic sizzle and the syncopated beeping of stove tops and grills, jumbled chatter and order calls, filling most of the noise as he hummed and drummed on countertops. The small establishment was run by two of Beef’s closest friends, Joe and Cleo, who practically handed him the job once he moved into the area. He was an aspiring artist, but he knew not to dream too big, knew to stay humble and level headed through his art- because he was simply a guy with a knick knack for pretty sounds and nothing too special. Regardless, his friends supported his musical endeavors, and provided work for him during the day while he continued his biweekly street performances.
“Hey Beef- can we get a remake on order 207? There’s a gluten allergy at that table.” Cleo called from the opposite side of the kitchen window. There’s a crooked grin on her face as she leans against the counter, and Beef nods accordingly as he starts to remake that meal.
He pauses, realizing that she looks much too comfortable leaning and hanging around than she usually would be when working the front floors. “There anything I can help you with Cleo?” He muses in a sing-song voice as he wipes down a bit of his area.
“Nope, just wanted to know how your night was. You look like your head’s in the clouds.” She chuckles into it innocently, and it floods a comfortable warmth into Beef’s chest knowing that she can tell when he’s tired, like how he is today.
“It was good. I didn’t finish up until late though, that’s all.” He briefly paused in his words as his hands carefully continued to work, “Someone tipped me a 50 at the end of the night though, so it was worth it.” There’s a faint smile across his lips as he recalls the simple memory.
Cleo hums, her eyes now focused on a small group of people entering the restaurant and waves to them, “We’ll be with you in just one moment.” She turns her head to face Beef again and her red hair, currently pulled into a low braid, flips over her shoulder, “That’s rather generous of a tip, did you catch a name? Y’know how small this town is, Joe might know them.”
The thought of himself passing something as simple as a name, just for the all-knowing-Joe-Hills to give a complete biography on the stranger, brought out a soft laughter from Beef, “No I didn’t. I’m guessing he’s just passing through or visiting. I don’t think I'd ever seen him before.” He shrugged as Cleo nodded slowly to herself, whatever she was thinking behind those piercing green eyes, he had no clue.
“Well- I’m gonna go help out our new guests, and I'll be back for that order in a minute.” She passes a smile that makes Beef shift from one foot to another before she’s gone, and he goes back to focus on his actual task at hand.
His thoughts began to drift, if not for just a moment, until an abrupt laughter cuts his train of thought. The laughter is simple, but it’s shared amongst the new group that had just entered the dining hall, and the amount of unfiltered joy and amusement that is brought from it cuts through the building. It makes Beef want to laugh too, even if he doesn’t know the cause of the laugh in the first place.
By the time he has finished the remake of order 207, and has started on the next three meals, Cleo is back. She has a light laughter lingering on her parted lips, moreso smiling to herself than anything, and there’s a buzz of warmth from whatever had happened at the new table.
“Lovely bunch, they are.” Is all she has to say as she picks up a couple plates and returns to waitressing the front floors.
And Beef doesn’t think much of it until the vague chime of the front door brushes his ears, and there is another eruption of noise from the table. It’s just one person emerging from the door, but he seems to be pretty important for the entire group to cheer. When the new guest walks up to the table, the shortest of the group wraps a firm arm around him and greets him with an excited, “Look at you Mr. Julliard grad! Welcome to town! Welcome to town!” He’s bubbling with a spark of mischief that Beef can only roll his eyes at.
However, ‘ Juilliard grad’ does catch Beef’s notice. Beef didn’t really care much for school and sped through the bare minimum of community college before moving into town. So what was a small town like this doing with someone who had just gotten out of a school as prestigious and classy as Julliard was made out to be? He didn’t get to catch a proper look at the graduate in question, but figured that he might be able to ask Cleo or Joe about him later.
When his shift ends, he hangs around another fifteen minutes for Joe to arrive. Joe was by no means popular either, but he was smart and friendly, and knew just about anyone and everyone that came in and out of this town. He was the kind of guy that strangers would pour their hearts out to at a bar after not even five minutes of meeting, the kind of guy that would buy a stranger a meal after said stranger tried and failed to mug him and they would eventually leave as a better person.
It takes another fifteen minutes for Joe to make his rounds, greeting all the regulars and seeing how their meals were, before he approaches Beef, “Howdy VB! I thought I was gonna miss you, you’re not working overtime today, are you?” His eyes and words are so soft in comparison to Cleo, and it almost makes Beef chuckle to himself.
“Not today, I’m about to head home in a bit.” He shrugs his jacket more comfortably around his shoulders as he pats Joe’s shoulder firmly, “I did want to ask you something though.”
Joe passes a look that reads a lot more genuine and sincere than should be necessary for the question that is about to be asked, “Well, ask away.”
Beef starts by gesturing to the -still- full table about five feet from where they are standing, “That table over there. Do you by any chance know any recent uni or college graduates?”
There’s a slight pause as the shorter hums, briefly analyzing the people seated at the table before opening his mouth again, “The blonde with the wing tattoos on his shoulders graduated just this past semester, and the brunette with the red headband around his forehead graduated roughly about a year ago I believe.”
By the way his brows are rested, yet ever so slightly creased, lets Beef know that he isn’t done yet, and so he waits patiently.
“The one with the white hair, I don’t think I know him.”
That, he was not expecting.
Beef was sure that Joe knew everyone, to at least some degree. “Hm, I see.” Well, the blonde with the tattoos was out of the question because he was the one who had said ‘Juilliard grad’ in the first place. And the brunette with the headband couldn’t possibly be the one in question either, because it would simply be an odd use of words for the shorter male to be referring to someone who graduated so long ago. So that left the one with the white hair. Which, come to think of it, looked an awful lot like the stranger who gave the 50.
“If you don’t mind me asking, VB, why did you need to know?” The question is passive and laced with a curiosity that only Joe Hills could pull off.
Beef sighs with a small smile, “I overheard that someone at their table just graduated from Juilliard. That’s all, I’m just curious.”
Joe nods in return, glancing back over to the table in question for a moment, “Best bet would be the one with the white hair then. But maybe they’re just visiting.”
‘Just visiting.’ Perhaps the mystery tipper very well could be the Juilliard grad also. That would make sense why he recognized the songs.
“Well, thanks for humoring my curiosity, Joe. I’ll see you around.” Is how Beef ends the conversation. They exchange quick goodbyes and Beef spares one last look over to the bustling table before making his exit out of the decorated glass door.
He wonders if the stranger will come see him perform again.
-
Playing the piano with gloves on is nowhere near as easy as it should be. A second layer around hands that have songs memorized by the muscle should be nothing more than a small queery. And yet Beef cringes everytime he accidentally so much as phantoms an incorrect note.
But it’s chillier tonight than any old weatherman ever warned him, so he keeps the gloves on as he finishes up another light hearted Christmas carol. There’s a small group of children crowding him, and it’s their wide-eyed wonder and amazement, as they clap and cheer, that keeps Beef going. It’s barely half past 10, but he already knows that he should end tonight early, just so that he doesn’t risk catching a cold. Christmas was this Sunday, and he’d like to be healthy enough to not worry about getting anyone else sick.
He runs through three more songs before he realizes that the slow pace of tonight is practically begging him to retire for the evening, and sighs asas he tells himself ‘ Just one more ’.
Chilled gloved hands move slowly as he begins Füür Elise. In general, it was a nice piece to end on, seeing how proud he was of himself that he had memorized it to the extent that he did. And the locals loved it, which was always a plus. But in the back of his mind, he wondered if he could bring about the -supposed- Juilliard stranger, if he were to play it again.
He ends up getting carried away again, as he usually did when he played Beethoven pieces, and by the time he comes back to reality, there’s another small group around the piano. He dips his focus into the song, finishing it off and finally pans his view up to be met with clapping and comments of appreciation and praise. He smiles before getting up and bowing ever so slightly as he wraps a gloves hand around his neck, rubbing at it in flushed embarrassment that he barely even noticedd them.
“So this isn’t a one time show?”
The words fall on his ears and Beef is turning around to see a familiar figure place a 20 dollar bill in the guitar case. It’s the Juilliard stranger. ‘ I guess he really is summoned from Beethoven’
“Every Wednesday and Saturday, when I can, at least.” He doesn’t usually talk too much with the people that come to watch him play, but something about the stranger makes him feel comfortable enough to engage in the conversation.
The white haired male hums, “Awful lot of commitment for an unpaid gig.” It’s light hearted and makes Beef chuckle to himself.
Before he knows it, he’s branching his hand out for the stranger, “I don’t do it for the money. I’m Beef, by the way.”
Something about the gesture makes the other look somewhat surprised, shocked even, but after a moment of hesitation, he takes Beef’s hand and shakes it gently, “Etho. Just moved into town, maybe I can catch your next show.” He tilts his head and Beef can only assume he’s smiling, so he smiles back and lets his hand go.
“Well, you’ll know where to find me.” He feels dumb, now that he’s said it, but there’s no turning back as he waves the other man off. He watches him leave quietly, before turning on his heels and begins to pack up and head home for the night.
‘ Etho. What a nice guy.’
-
It was Sunday. Meaning it was Christmas. Meaning the restaurant was closed, and that Beef didn’t really have anything to do.
Since he lived alone, he was more than ready to just lounge about all day, maybe practice a new song on his guitar, maybe just rest because he had ended late last night. (He had decided not to play Für Elise last night, and as odd as it was, Etho didn’t show up. Guess that debunked his theory: : if he wanted to see the white haired male again, he’d have to play Für Elise and only Für Elise apparently.)
But that morning, as the sun peaked into his small apartment and smiled down on his window curtains and into his eyes, his phone buzzed with renewed life.
Zed
Beeeeeef
Im I’m throwing a Christmas party
At like 5 or smthing
Come hang out
You can play Impulse’s piano if you want
I won’t tell him
Beef couldn’t help but smile at the texts, practically hearing the way that Zed sounded as he typed the message with a signature cheeky grin across his face. He didn’t mind the idea of going to a Christmas party, it wasn't like he had any other plans for today.
So he pulls himself out from the comfort of his bed and shoots back a quick text of confirmation to his friend. He still had more than enough time to get ready for everything, all the while fitting into his personal plans that he had already scolded himself to get done today. Music begins to fill the small apartment, running from his phone to his bluetooth speaker, resting on his ears as he hummed and got ready for the day.
-
Five came around much sooner than he had anticipated, and he didn’t find himself tripping out of his apartment until a quarter ‘til 6. He cursed under his breath as he typed Zed a quick, and probably incorrectly spelt, text to apologize for being late. It took him another fifteen minutes to actually get to said party, and he couldn’t help the embarrassed guilt that bubbled at the back of his throat.
When he knocked his hand on the familiar dark green dark green door, Zed greeted him with open arms and grasped him into a heartfelt hug. He muttered a bubbly, “You made it!” into Beef’s shoulder, only letting go once Beef had squeezed him back.
“Sorry again about being late, lost track of time and getting caught up in something.” The taller man apologized, but Zed simply smiled and patted his back, obviously a bit tipsy and too satisfied that he showed up in the first place to care that Beef had arrived nearly an hour late.
“That’s fine, you’re your own person.” The shorter chuckles as he lets the guests into his house, a flood of chatting voices and soft music filling Beef’s ears almost instantly. From first appearances, it almost seemed classy, if not for the reality of the people populating the home.
Zed and Beef weaved through people, passing quick greetings and hellos until they had made it to the living room where there was a thin crowd around where Beef knew Impulse’s piano to be. That’s when the brunette realized that the music flooding the room wasn’t being played on speakers or some kind of monitor, but was live.
“Wow Zed, You hired a pianist?” He asked light-heartedly, coming off almost as a joke rather than something genuine.
“Bold of you too assume I can afford that.” Zed joked as he led Beef into the crowd to get a better look at just who was playing the sweet music. “I don’t know these lads too well, but they’re all good friends of Impulse and Tango, so I invited them.”
One more simple step forward, and Beef immediately recognized who was at the front of the crowd, being the short blonde with the tattoos and the brunette with the red headband from the other day. Which meant-
“Etho!”
He hadn’t realized that the song had just ended as he nearly shouted the name, nor that he had shouted in the first place. So when all eyes in the small proximity landed on him, including those of the white haired pianist in question, a flurry of hot embarrassment immediately flooded to his face. But then their eyes met and Beef saw how Etho laughed underneath his face mask, and the embarrassment eased into an equal amusement, laughing back softly as he reached his hand up to the back of his neck.
“Fancy seeing you here, Beef.” His heterochromatic eyes crinkle with a smile, and he shifts over on the black piano bench before he starts another song. This one isn’t as festive as the last, Frederic Chopin’s ‘Raindrop’ (Prelude), and Beef recognizes it immediately.
There’s almost a trance over him, as well as the rest of the small crowd as they all stand there watching, mesmerized, by the way Etho’s hands move across the black and white tiles. The song is roughly six minutes, from what Beef recalls, but he only manages a single breath throughout the entire performance (if that’s even the correct word to describe the display of a single song), and when Etho has finished the prelude, his breathing is slightly uneven, like he had just ran up threethree flights of stairs.
There’s a beat of silence between them before Beef opens his mouth, “Do you wanna get something to drink?” It’s simple enough of an offer, and doesn’t scream the same desperation that is singing at the back of his head to have a proper conversation with the man.
Etho nods and gets up from the piano bench, a bit wobbly from sitting there for so long, and follows Beef over to the kitchen where a display of drinks are presented. Beef reaches for what looks to be an alcoholic apple cider, while Etho picks up a clear glass bottle filled with something Beef isn’t quite sure of, rolling it in his hand a few times before setting it back down and picking up another identical bottle.
“I can’t believe my biggest fan is a better pianist than me.” He triestries sarcastically as he takes a sip of his cider, smiling as he watches Etho’s shoulders bounce with a light laughter.
“And I can’t believe you didn’t tip me for my performance.” He shoots back, thumbing at the fabric of his mask as if debating on whether or not he should remove it. The way his hand slowly falls back to his side, settles on his decision to leave it on and not actually drink. “So you’re a friend of Tango’s too?” He decided to continue the conversation, forgetting the glass bottle resting in his palm.
“Not really, we’ve met a few times, but I’m here through Zedaph. We actually met because he’d watch me play guitar downtown. And proceeded to ask me all about instruments and what kinds and brands he should invest in for gifts to Impulse and Tango.” As Beef explained, Etho nodded in genuine interest, like Beef was someone incredibly important and not just some recurring stranger who shared an interest in music.
But he perked up rather cutely at the mention of Beef playing guitar, and it made Beef feel oddly special for once, “What instruments do you play?” It was an awfully innocent question, but Beef enjoyed the attention anyway.
“Mostly just piano and guitar. I’m self taught in both though, so I’m not really the best. But I have fun with it.” Ah yes, self taught , it used to be embarrassing for him to admit that he couldn’t invest in classes or even simple lessons, but now he was rather proud of the fact that he had memorized intricate chords and note patterns to the level he was.
The shorter of the two shifted his gaze back to the bottle in his left hand, swirling the liquid around a couple times before tapping his right index finger against it, as if he was summoning a magic spell of some sort. “Well as long as you’re having fun with it, then it shouldn’t really matter how good you are.” His voice turned partially distant, like his thoughts were starting to get carried away in his head.
Beef shot him a confused look, but when it went unnoticed, he shook off the initial shock of the comment and took another sip of his drink, “I guess you’re right. So what about you? What musical talents do you have hidden behind that mask?”
Etho blinked up at him, as if he didn’t quite register what the brunette had just said, “Lots of piano. I don’t really have time to play fun instruments like guitar anymore.” He shrugs before his eyes meet Beef’s again, pausing at how sympathetic Beef’s expression was.
They didn’t know each other. Not really. This was only their third time speaking, and that’s only if you count their less than 5 minute exchange from the first time they had met. And yet, Beef smiled a crooked half-hearted grin, “Well, I have a guitar at my place if you want to play it after the party.”
Beef’s brows rose, innocent and sweet, and it made Etho snort into a broken laughter. “Inviting me over when you barely even know me? I thought better of you Beef.” His slanted smirk is back and there is mischief written along his crinkled eyes this time. It makes Beef scoff, and if not for the way his ears heat up, he’d shoot something equally as playful back. But all the wit is out of him and he ends up stammering over a jumble of words, just making Etho burst out laughing.
When Beef finally catches his words, and Etho is finished toppling over in laughter, the loud blonde is next to them and pulling Etho’s arm like an excited child. He shoots an odd look over to Beef before letting go of the other’s arm, “You’re the street performer.” Beef nods accordingly, not quite sure what to say, “I’m Grian. Pleasure to meet you.” He flashes a grin that Beef doesn’t eveb humor to understand, and then continues to pull Etho into another room, without even bothering to get Beef’s name.
And the brunette wants to protest, but isn’t even sure if he can, because the unfiltered excitement that was radiating off the blonde and onto the two musicians was infectious. Besides, it was a Christmas party, and he didn’t want to get hung up over a single person when there were plenty of friendly and familiar faces for him to converse with.
-
It’s the end of the night, and Beef is slipping his shoes on, saying his goodbyes and thanking Zed again for the invitation, when a hand just barely taps at his shoulder. He’s more than just a little bit buzzed, so he doesn’t quite feel it, but when the owner of said hand speaks up, he’s quick to turn around.
It’s Grian, only now he has a scarf and coat on, probably about to head out as well, and he has a mischievous smirk across his face, “Thought you might want this.” He places a small piece of paper into Beef’s palm, no further context given, “He’s awful at responding within the hour, but you’ll thank me later.”
And just like that, he turns on his heel and is gone. And Beef is rolling the paper in his palm before reading out a ten digit number with ‘Etho’s too much of a chicken to give you this’ scribbled at the top of the scrap. He smiles in a muted amusement, tucking it into his pocket as he said his last goodbyes and went home.
Despite the beating moonlight and the hazy late night fog, when he makes it home he doesn’t climb into bed or run a long shower. He simply reaches for his guitar, and begins strumming something slow. Something sweet. Something new.
Something fun.