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Trashy musical songs fill the air in their dorm room but, for once, Piano Man doesn’t complain. After all, he should be entirely focused on his final project - it’s due in under a week, he is woefully behind schedule, and his penchant for perfectionism has made him miss deadline after deadline in the past - yet he’s enraptured by something else entirely.
Lippmann is sitting cross-legged, their side of the room in disarray for the first time this entire year, painting their face with elaborate stage makeup, preparing for the first performance of their show. It should look ridiculous up close, but Lippmann somehow carries it off regardless. It’s almost infuriating how perfect they are. Almost, because Piano Man can’t quite help the way he’s drawn to them, but still incredibly annoying nonetheless, especially when he lives with them. They get perfect grades, they’re unbelievably popular, and they somehow look put together even when they’ve just woken up.
It would make him want to punch them, but it makes him want to kiss them even more.
Seemingly every person in their entire college adores them, no matter how much he wishes he were exaggerating when he says that. Literally everyone does, though, and it’s not even hard to see why. Their tinkling laugh, the confidence with which they carry themself, their smooth voice and even more measured words-
Piano Man cuts his thoughts off there, turning back to his project, as if staring at it will prompt him to work on it, or somehow make it paint itself. He doesn’t know why he decided to paint bank notes of all things; not only are they incredibly dull to work on, every last one the same as the others, but he also can’t help getting sucked into the details of them, obsessing over every minute thing and only extending the time it will take him to complete the piece. He is kicking his past self for the choice.
“Shouldn’t you be getting ready in the theatre?” Piano Man asks skeptically to take his mind off his project, dropping the pretense of interest in it, and turning back to Lippmann. Even the way they do their eyeliner is annoying; two perfect flicks and it’s done, almost in an instant. Back when Piano Man wore eyeliner (he winces at the thought of it alone) it took him at least fifteen minutes to become satisfied with the look, and not once were they fully symmetrical.
“Yes,” they answer, before rolling their eyes as they continue, “but the guy playing my love interest is a real piece of work. I’m avoiding him as much as possible.”
“You’ve never mentioned that before,” Piano Man says with a frown. “Haven’t you been having rehearsals with him for months?”
“You’ve never asked,” Lippmann points out shortly. “And, no, not for months. He kept missing our rehearsals, far more than what should be tolerated. He should’ve been kicked from the cast entirely, but his parents are filthy rich. I have no doubt that’s why he landed the role in the first place. I need to change,” they add, standing abruptly, scooping up a costume that had been draped over the back of their chair, and disappearing into the bathroom.
Piano Man reluctantly spins back around to face his painting, groaning aloud at the sight of it. He picks up his paintbrush, and dabs half-heartedly at the canvas for a minute or so, before throwing it down onto his desk in frustration.
“Final piece troubles?” Lippmann asks, slipping back into the room.
“Unfortunately,” Piano Man affirms, turning his head to face them, then feeling his jaw drop at the sight.
The dress they’re wearing is, quite simply, gorgeous. It’s the only word that Piano Man can think of as he gazes at them, subtlety flying out of the window. It’s a pale cream colour and, combined with the way they’ve piled their hair atop their head, it sets a flush blooming in his cheeks. He just manages to pick his jaw up in time for their eyes to meet his.
“Why not forget the piece for a bit, and come watch the show?” they suggest with a grin, and Piano Man can just tell they’ve been waiting to swoop in and make that suggestion. He just blinks, though, still trying to pull himself back together, which they clearly take as a yes. They march over to his side and drag him to his feet, then out of his room, all before he can form a single word of protest.
“I’ve already convinced everyone else to come,” Lippmann tells him excitedly. They don’t need to explain who they mean; their friend group has become inexplicably intertwined, despite having almost nothing in common. They are all different ages, they take wildly different courses, yet, somehow, all collided regardless.
Lippmann ushers him into the theatre, blowing him a kiss (and sending his heart racing) before promptly departing to go backstage. It’s up to Piano Man to find the others and, to his only slight surprise, every last one of them has shown up.
“Yo!” Albatross exclaims when he spots him, jumping to his feet. “Piano Man! I had no idea you were coming!”
“Neither did I,” he replies with a light laugh, making his way to sit on the edge of the row their group has entirely taken over. He’s next to Chuuya, a first year who studies Physics out of genuine enjoyment for the subject (something Piano Man can’t fathom in the slightest), and the rest of the group are along from him. Iceman and Chuuya just nod at him, the latter trying to stay cool, but Doc lets out a cackle of delight when he lays eyes upon him.
He relaxes into his seat as the familiar conversation of his friends washes over him, watching as the seats around him slowly fill up. Excited chatter dies down as if a switch has been flipped the moment the lights go down, and Piano Man turns to face the stage, heart beating far faster than he would’ve expected from the thought of Lippmann appearing on stage.
It’s only as the ensemble step onto stage that Piano Man realises he doesn’t even know what the play is about. For all Lippmann’s complaints about the cast and rehearsals and the director’s decisions, not once have they deigned to explain the actual plot to him.
He finds it doesn’t matter. He’s here for them, after all.
⋅───⊱ ⋆⋅𖤓⋅⋆ ⊰───⋅
Piano Man never had the chance to form expectations for what the play would be like, not when he never even planned to watch it. Before it began, he knew it was written by students, and he knew the ins and outs of backstage dynamics, but that really didn’t give him much to go off of.
Lippmann, for one, was incredible. They merged seamlessly into their character, still Lippmann physically, but embodying their character in every other way. Every move of theirs was calculated to match the person they became, their facial expressions and line delivery on point. It was mesmerising to watch them perform, and in spite of Piano Man’s knowledge of their nerves for this, they didn’t bleed through at all.
They weren’t the only good actor, and far from it. There were many students who surprised Piano Man with their prowess, but the guy playing the main love interest was certainly not one of them.
He stumbled through his lines, somehow disrupting the flow of each and every scene he was in but that wasn’t what made Piano Man’s blood boil the most.
No, for he got to kiss Lippmann, right there on stage, for everyone to see.
Lit by a spotlight, underneath a fake tree on stage, they kissed, and Piano Man felt his fists clench involuntarily. Lippmann never mentioned a kiss-
And they didn’t have to, he scolds himself internally. It’s not as if they owe it to you to warn you. You’re not together in any shape of the word.
Piano Man still applauds at the end, of course. He just makes the pointed decision to not clap during the love interest’s bow. It’s absolutely petty and utterly pointless, yet he can’t help but feel vindicated all the same.
During Lippmann’s bow, their eyes never leave Piano Man. They practically shine, even as they disappear backstage, offering a small wave to the audience. To him.
The moment the cast has retreated off stage, the audience bursts into conversation, some immediately filing out of their seats. They exchange opinions on the show that just unfolded before them, hurrying back to their dorms. Piano Man, however, is slower to stand, and he makes no hurry to leave the room.
“Want to head back together?” Iceman asks him in a low tone as he catches up to him. His dorm is just opposite theirs, but he finds himself shaking his head.
“Nah, I’ll wait for Lipp before I head back,” he tells him with a small smile. Iceman raises his eyebrows pointedly, but doesn’t comment further before slinking away. Piano Man is left to wait awkwardly as everyone else gradually disperses, heading back to their rooms for the night.
It can only be a couple of minutes, but it seems to drag endlessly out regardless. With nothing to occupy his thoughts, Piano Man finds his mind replaying the kiss he just witnessed, his heart clenching at every detail, all still agonisingly fresh in his mind.
He wonders how Lippmann’s lips would feel against his own. He imagines it - they’d be soft, he thinks, and warm. He wonders how it would feel to kiss them in front of everyone, just as they kissed their co-star, and the elation at having everyone know that he was theirs, and they were his.
The harder he tries to push those stupid thoughts from his mind, the more force with which they seem to burrow their way to the forefront of it. Trying to focus on other things only draws more attention to the images he wants so vehemently to forget.
A spotlight. Fake trees. A kiss with someone else, someone who’s not him.
Piano Man is so stuck in his head that he barely notices as actors begin to trickle out of the dressing rooms. Or, at least, he is until a certain actor emerges.
“Piano!” Lippmann exclaims, and Piano Man’s heart thunders at the way their face lights up when they spot him, the way their pace increases as they glide over to his side.
“Hey,” Piano Man says breathlessly.
“You didn’t have to wait for me,” Lippmann says as the two begin slowly walking back, bumping their shoulder against his. Their tone is carefully detached, their eyes darting awkwardly away from him.
“I didn’t,” Piano Man acknowledges aloud, glancing at them out of the corner of his eye.
I wanted to, is what he doesn’t say, ignoring the urging within his chest to do so. He compliments their performance, refuses to let them brush the praise off, and walks onwards. He tries to ignore the feeling still gnawing at his insides, the feeling that only grows and grows with each mental replay of Lippmann kissing someone else.
⋅───⊱ ⋆⋅𖤓⋅⋆ ⊰───⋅
Their room is still in disarray when they return. Lippmann’s makeup is flung all across the floor, Piano Man’s art project is lying untouched, and their curtains are wide open. The duration of the play and the wait afterwards have allowed enough time for the moon to rise, and its light spills into the room. As Lippmann silently begins to prepare for bed, Piano Man finds his eyes fixed on the stars outside.
Even their dim light reminds him of a spotlight, illuminating a scene he would do anything to forget. It’s only his inability to see Lippmann’s face that finally gives him the courage to speak.
“So,” Piano Man begins awkwardly. “The kiss scene.”
“Ugh, I know, right?” Lippmann agrees, still moving around outside of his field of vision, still acting as if nothing is happening here. “His breath reeked.”
Piano Man flounders at that. His heart pounds against his ribcage, but, after taking in a deep breath, he ploughs onward.
“That’s not what I meant,” he says, still gazing out of the window. He feels more than sees Lippmann freeze at the words.
“What… did you mean?” Their voice comes out strangled, choked by an emotion Piano Man can’t quite place. He stares at the moon, before allowing his eyes to fall to his hands, and then, with a burst of determination, forcing himself to turn to face them.
“I meant that it was hard to watch,” he admits. He watches as Lippmann’s brows furrow, as their mind words to piece together his meaning. When they finally do, their eyes widen impossibly.
“Wait,” Lippmann says, swallowing before taking a step closer. “Are you… jealous?”
Piano Man just nods once, slowly.
“Oh,” is all they say. A silence stretches out between them, and silently Piano Man is grateful that the moon is the only witness to his idiocy because, really, how could he ever believe someone like them ever like someone like him?
Lippmann has this magnetic quality to them. They draw everyone into their orbit, they sparkle and they waltz and everyone else has to scramble to even catch up to them. To Piano Man, they are more magnificent than all of the stars in the sky, than the rest of the world in its entirety.
Lippmann is destined to be someone, and Piano Man is no one at all.
“Forget I said-” Piano Man tries to save face, to take back his words. Things will be awkward between them now, but there’s still a chance that they can be righted. He’ll just have to bottle up these feelings, shove them down, until he can rid himself of them permanently. No matter how much his heart aches at the thought, he has to, in order to keep them in his life.
But then Lippmann steps forwards, and awkwardly presses a kiss to his cheek. Their lips are just as he imagined them: soft and warm, but there are things he never could’ve factored into the equation. The sensation is sticky from leftover lipstick, and, when they lean in close, they smell distinctly like lavender.
It’s perfect, is the only coherent thought that runs through his mind.
The kiss may not seem full-on, but it’s a collision of their two selves nonetheless. It’s only cemented when Lippmann takes his hand, running their thumb over his knuckles gently, and Piano Man can’t stop the smile that tugs at his lips.
“Well, that was a bit idiotic,” Lippmann tells him softly. “It was just a stage kiss. I don’t like him in the slightest, and I’m pretty sure I’ve made that more than clear.”
“It was very idiotic,” Piano Man agrees with a groan, which quickly gives way to his smile once more.
His foolishness doesn’t manage to stop a matching grin from spreading across Lippmann’s face. It doesn’t prevent their hands intertwining between them, and the way his heart soars as their eyes finally meet.