Work Text:
The best part of being an artist of any kind was the ability to create the representation one wanted.
Austin Lake loved music. No, that was an understatement. Austin Lake lived and breathed music. His heart was a snare drum and his lungs a harp. Everything he did from the moment he had been born was expressed through music.
Austin, however, could never find himself in a song.
Every song spoke of romance as this glorified endgame, making love as a fun activity. He didn't really want that. The songs were nice, and often were fun to play or sing, but Austin never once saw himself in the notes. So, he set out to change that.
He sat in the music room and Camp Half-Blood for hours on end, pouring himself over pages upon pages of music sheets. Woodrow, the satyr in charge of music, often begged Austin for even a glimpse of his creation, but Austin shut him down. This song was special; it was for him and him alone. He would finally put his experience to a tune and sing it like a love ballad. A love ballad to himself.
When he finished, he found himself at a piano, pressing a few keys in thought, making sure the A was where he thought the A was and the D where he thought the D was. He was never the best at piano, but it was the best for this song. It gave that ballad-like tune he was grasping for.
After a few minutes he began to play.
The words came easily to him—hours of work and memorization—as did the chords.
Sweetheart.
His voice was deep and raspy, like the one people fawned over.
Are you there?
I've been waiting for you a while now
Woodrow had arrived, but Austin didn't see him. His eyes were shut, and he became one with his music.
Love bug
I am here
I have prayed and prayed for you to appear
The others in the room, his siblings and a select few others, looked up from their own work, a silence falling over the entire music room. All eyes were on him.
I set a bed for you as a child
Put on my favorite sheets
People told me you'd arrive
And together forever we would be
Austin took a deep breath as he ended the refrain. The words echoed.
My lover
My lover who'd never come
The interlude was one of Austin's favorite parts to play. It was slow and methodical.
Darling
It's me again
The boy whose calls you chose to ignore
Baby
They told me
To give you time, you always arrive.
I set a bed for you as a child
Put on my favorite sheets
People told me you'd arrive
And together forever we would be
My lover
My one who'd never come
He put his heart and soul into this, and tried to let his emotions show.
I could've been all you've ever wanted, dear
The perfect little partner
I was told you would guide me, love
Take me by the hand
So we could face the world together
My lover
The one who'd never come
Austin was impressed he wasn't crying as the final verse began.
Sweetie
It's been years
The bed I've made has filled with dust
Oh, love
It's alright
I've learned to live with the facts
The last refrain was the hardest to sing.
I set a bed for you as a child
Put on my favorite sheets
People told me you'd arrive
And together forever we would be
My lover
The lover
The one people say will come
But never came
He finished the song, letting the last word cut off the music to accentuate his point. He could hear his own breathing, and the wind rustling papers behind him.
"Austin, that was—" his sibling, Yan, gaped.
"Perfect," Woodrow cried. "That's what music's about!
Austin felt his cheeks heat up at the praise. "Thank you."
Kayla, grinned. "You should definitely think of releasing that."
"It would be a hit for sure," Jerry agreed.
Austin thought about it for a moment. "Maybe I will."
That was the thing about making representation. It was something that was meant to be shared with the world.