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A small concert hall stands before Hans, its brightly lit marquee emblazoned with tonight’s show. His date, well more hookup in his eyes, gestures excitedly towards it, dragging Hans towards the doors as if the concert will start quicker if they arrive those two seconds earlier.
Hans has no real problem with his “date”, he just doesn’t see any reason to take seeing her, and let's be honest, others, seriously. He just wants to have fun, and it always is. So when she contacted him a few days prior and insisted that they go to this concert together he had no reason to expect anything different, and he was sure to get his satisfaction by the end of the night.
Despite its modest facade the interior of the hall was quite grand, the hall was built with dark wood, gold and red accents decorating the whole room. They arrived late so most of the red velour seats were already filled, but after they had done the mandatory awkward squeeze shuffle down the full aisle Hans found the seats were quite comfortable as well.
No more than five minutes after they got to their seats the house lights dim and the crowd breaks into a cheer as the band enters onto the stage. They were a much larger group than Hans had expected, they wielded cellos, a trumpet, saxophones, violins, a stand up bass and what the fuck, was that a bassoon?! This is not what Hans had expected at all.
As the musicians take their places on stage the crowd settles and the air in the hall grows still, apprehensive of what is to come.
The song starts slowly, quietly. As it starts to build Hans notices his hookup learn a bit forward in her seat, she is immediately captivated by the music now filling the hall. Paying him no mind at all.
At this point all the string instruments are playing, their melodies intermingling with each other, and Hans has to admit, it is a beautiful song.
Right as he figures the song is building to its climax almost every instrument falls away, leaving a single violinist to play out the melody.
Up to this moment Hans hadn’t paid attention to the musicians individually, but as this violinist plays out his solo, Hans finds he can not tear his eyes away from him. His expression is one of careful concentration, brows slightly knit together, mouth pressed into a hard line. Then all too soon he plays out his melody and the others start back in. Not registering why, Hans laments not having savoured that moment, those brief few bars of that lone violinist.
But just as soon as the others join back in they fall away once more.
Again this lone violinist plays out his melody. This time his face serene, as if he got his nerves out during the first solo. His softly lidded eyes fully closing as he carries on. Time slows for Hans in that moment as a smile grows on the violinist's face during the last few notes, blossoming into a full and blinding smile as the rest of the band rejoins him in playing, the music once again swelling in a crescendo.
No longer able to look away, Hans has become utterly caught in the sway of this violinist.
As the concert continues the room around Hans melts away and all that matters is him and this musician. The way he moves with the music and his peers. The way he smiles and laughs, the amount of joy playing music seems to bring him, it is all so infectious.
There are times where the violinist dons a serious, concentrated face, he stands straight and stiff with a perfected posture. In those moments Hans can see the strength the violinist possesses, his shoulders broad, arms much more muscular than Hans would honestly expect from a musician. In those moments the violin feels too delicate an instrument for him, his strong hands much more suited for harsher work, though it would be unbefitting of his perceived nature.
By this point the heat of the stage lights and the exertion of playing is obviously getting to the musician. Hans can see a thin sheen of sweat appearing on the violinist’s face. During a rest Hans is transfixed as the violinist runs a hand through his sure to be damp hair, pushing the strays out of his eyes, and from somewhere he pulls a towel, running it over his face and hands.
Hans studies his face and concludes that the violinist is a uniquely handsome man. He has strong features, but gives the impression he has yet to fully grow into them and it looks as if he hasn't shaved for days. From the audience Hans can’t make out the colour of his eyes but even from this distance Hans can tell he has some seriously long eyelashes, he's caught them casting a few shadows even. Oh! and his ears are a little big, Hans tacks onto the end of his assessment.
But all these elements of the violinist, they oddly work, somehow harmonious and cohesive with the way he carries himself, all parts of a whole that make up this man that has had Hans enraptured the entire evening.
There are moments during the concert where the violinist lowers his instrument, either between songs while his bandmates shuffle their instruments and speak to the crowd, or mid-song when he is in a rest. At those times Hans watches. While at rest, the violinist will adjust his appearance, roll his shoulders and stretch his neck. Sometimes he shares a few words with his neighbour, he even “pranks” one at a point, reaching behind them to tap their far shoulder then badly feigning that it wasn’t him. He received a playful smack to the shoulder for that one. Other times he looks out into the crowd, surveying their faces, gauging their enjoyment.
How much the violinist can see through the stage lights Hans has no idea, but there are times where he could swear their eyes had met and held a fleeting contact. Hans is trying to brush it off as wishful thinking, what is he, a thirteen year old girl hoping to be spotted in a crowd and have their favourite musician fall in love with him, no, no he is not… But there it is again. Their eyes meet and it feels like they share a breath, taking in the same air in tandem, only for the violinist to once again avert his gaze, raise his instrument, and rejoin in the song.
The breath catches in Hans’ lungs as he lets it go.
In his reverence, Hans has lost all sense of time, he hasn't been listening to the individual songs, so utterly caught in the thrall of this man that when the final song ends he hadn’t known that it was the end.
The crowd is roaring, Hans stands along with them, swept along in their tide. He watches as musicians give their own thanks to the crowd, applauding them back, raising their instruments in salute but they are only peripheral. The violinist stands straight with his violin held behind his back, the hand holding the bow resting on his heart as he bends into a deep bow. Hans’ breath catches as the violinist, still in his bow, looks up, meeting Hans’ eyes directly, a devilish smirk upon his lips.
Hans is a deer caught in the headlights of a car, he freezes, unblinking, unwilling to break the spell of the man’s gaze.
Against his will he is jolted back into his body by a sudden tug on his arm, whatever spell he had been under now broken. The moment passes as the violinist straightens and leaves the stage with his bandmates. Tearing his eyes away from the stage Hans looks down to his hookup hanging from his arm. She is gazing up at him, a suggestion of what the night is to bring in her expression. Still feeling as if he has just awoken from a dream Hans feigns his usual demeanour, hoping that it's not obvious that it's only a facsimile.
The house lights turn on and all at once the crowd comes alive as everyone starts to shuffle out of the venue. Hans allows himself to be led out, though he cannot help but spare one last glance over his shoulder back at the empty stage.
—
Hans sits at a nearby bar, it's not overly busy, has warm lighting, low music, the smell of beer and greasy food permeates the air. After leaving the venue he had brushed off his hookup, had made some shit up about not being in the mood tonight, which had surprised him too. He had let her storm off, uncaring if that particular relationship was severed. Left alone, Hans had wandered into the nearest bar to unpack whatever the hell had just come over him those past few hours.
The last sip of his drink was swill, having been lost in his own thoughts he had taken too long to finish it. While choking down the last of the piss warm and flat ale he was only mildly aware of the person sliding onto the seat beside him.
“Two ales, please” a voice ordered beside him.
Figuring it was about time he found his way home Hans sighs, pushing up against the bar to stand and leave. Though he stills when a cold pint glass hits the side of his hand, he looks down at it, brows furrowed in confusion.
The look of confusion quickly changes to shock as he looks over at the person offering the drink, it was the violinist, smiling at him, looking a little uncertain. He raises his own pint to his mouth taking a short swig, still not breaking eye contact with Hans.
For a moment they just look at each other, then the violinist looks away, setting his pint on the bar. As he turns back he brings up his hand, offering it in greeting.
“Henry,” he says with a slightly crooked smile.
A huff of laughter escapes, “Hans” he offers in return, reaching out, grasping Henry’s hand in his own, holding it firm.