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Fritz had never really liked classical music.
He’d never really had an opportunity to listen to it, and maybe that was the reason he rolled his eyes whenever he heard it. His mother and sister had never been particularly big fans, to make the understatement of the century, and the band concerts at school always put him to sleep.
All of this to say, when piano music started slipping under Rory’s bedroom door, Fritz was not pleased.
”Gottverdamnt,” Fritz stared at the ceiling and scrunched his eyebrows. “Does Ben have to play that stupid thing now?” This was Rory and Fritz’s first hangout in months, and Fritz was not about to take a nap because of some boring waltz playing downstairs.
”It’s his house, too.” Rory said in his infinite patience. Fritz tilted his head off of the bed to stare at Rory upside down, then made a belated move to grab his beanie from where it was slipping off of his head. His friend sat at his desk, working on math homework. “He’s allowed to play something if he wants to.”
“At least he’s not singing,” Fritz scoffed. “He’s so loud when he sings.” Rory wisely chose not to reply. The ceiling fan turned ever so slowly above Fritz, doing nothing to help the uncomfortably dead air. He licked his dry lips and sighed forcefully, then sat up with a grunt.
”This is boring as hell. I’m gonna go piss.”
”Gross.” Rory didn’t look up as Fritz’s feet thudded across the room and out the door. Fritz did not, in fact, plan on pissing. He had greater aspirations in life—more specifically, he wanted to fuck with Ben and his stupid loud annoying boring music, because where in the hell did that man get off to ruining his hangout with his stuffy old piano?
He wasn’t entirely sure what he’d do, but he was sure that he would figure it out as he snuck down the stairs on the balls of his feet. He could sneak up behind Ben and scare him half to death. Maybe, he thought, that nerd would have a heart attack and finally leave him and Rory alone. Good riddance.
He stopped on the landing, very sudden and stilted and strangely grateful to Ben that his running mouth covered the thump he made as he misstepped and nearly fell. “Good,” Ben was saying, a warm glow in his words that had spread its way to his face, “you’re doing great. I honestly don’t hear anything wrong with your playing.”
“I do.” She sat beside Ben on the piano bench, on the side nearest to the stairs. Her lashes fell almost to meet her cheek as she looked down at the spread of black and white keys before her, one hand tentatively resting on the low end. “Something sounds off. I think—I think it might be in the timing? Or maybe I hit a bad note somewhere.”
“I don’t think you did.” Ben’s voice was secondary, now, as was the rest of him and the rest of the room and maybe even the rest of reality. Fritz felt an odd ache in his chest. He was half-convinced he was dying, because why else would he feel this way, and how else could there be an angel sitting pretty in the living room?
”I’m going to play it through one more time.” Ness ran her fingers in a glissando up the keys, stopping at middle C. Her nails were a strong, dark blue, maybe the only dark thing about her. “I’ll stop when I’m comfortable with it.” The rest of her was decorated with white and pale and pink and pastel versions of heaven.
Ben shrugged. “Suit yourself.” He stood, and the bench creaked as he got up. He took the time to tap a key on his way up, then frowned and tapped it again. “It’s getting out of tune.”
“It’s fine.” Ness shifted herself to the middle of the bench.
”ね, I’m gonna grab a drink of water, maybe a snack. Let me know when you’re ready.”
“Okay.” Her voice reminded Fritz of a bell. His mind felt like it was on fire. She skimmed the tips of her fingers over the smooth keys until they found their rightful resting places, she took a deep breath, and she let it out through ever-so-slightly parted lips as she began to play.
Fritz had never really liked classical music. He was rapidly discovering, however, a certain appreciation for it.
The song was light, and sort of twirling—a waltz? A sonata? Fritz didn’t know the terms well enough to classify it. What he did know was that he had sunken down to sit on the edge of the landing, one hand gripping the columns of the bannister for dear life, the other bracing against the wood below him.
His eyes travelled from her thin fingers on the keys to her baby blue sweater to her cheek. There was the shallowest furrow between her eyes from concentration. She was just barely biting on the corner of her lip, just barely rocking back and forth to the sway of the music. The air was temperate and stirred, the wood beneath his hands felt smooth and cold, and Ness was perfect.
The song sounded golden yellow, and light, pale blue.
It felt like the kind of thing Ness should be playing.
It felt like it was something right in the world.
Fritz didn’t notice Ben until he stood in the doorway. He had probably kept his steps catlike on purpose, in order to not disturb the music and the concentrated peace that had come over Ness. For once in his life, Fritz could not blame him. Ben’s eyes watched Ness with a certain familial fondness in them, then skirted the crown of her head to meet Fritz’s. He looked a bit surprised, but Fritz was already bolting up the stairs before his expression could shift to anything warm.
Even so, Fritz could still hear the way his footsteps shocked through her music and brought it to a faltering stop. And he could hear her words—“Who was that? Was that Rory?”