aureliaastralis:

“I notice you, I want to say. Even when no one else does, I do. I will.” || classical musician au

They were reflections of the pieces they played, chasing each other across taut violin strings and piano keys, through lilting melodies and over countless years. He would never admit the truth to anyone, that his awkward, outspoken, dreamer of an accompanist was the muse that gave life to his music — only, it didn’t stop him from hoping she’d see it anyways. 

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“Play something for me.” 

Darcy’s head snapped up, and she found herself flushing at the squeak of surprise that came from her throat. He gave that little half-smile of amusement, watching at she floundered a bit at being caught unawares. 

“You mean me?”

He snorted, condescending green eyes meeting hers derisively. “Come now, Miss Lewis, do you see anyone else I could be speaking to?” His hand swept to the empty recording room mockingly, and Darcy felt the flush of embarrassment rise again, this time with a more than a touch of irritation. “Play something for me.” 

“… Anything in particular?” she asked through gritted teeth, masked in a polite smile. It wasn’t in her nature to swallow her anger, not by any means, but she had heard stories of Loki Odinson’s notoriously mercurial temper, and there was no way she was screwing up on her first day. She needed this job. 

“Surprise me,” he said lightly, thumb brushing over the strings of the violin in his hand. “Mozart? Bach? Debussy seems to be rising in popularity recently, and I do always enjoy a well-played Claire de Lune… a pity it has to be associated with those dreadful films though.”

“You mean Twilight?” Darcy blinked at him slowly, balanced on the edge of confusion and disbelief before frowning when he just kept looking at her with that patronizing expression. “Oh god, you’re serious,” she half-laughed incredulously. “You… you actually just went there.” 

“Aside from your competence of your playing, Miss Hill mentioned little else about you besides your apparent youth.” He shrugged, looking thoroughly unperturbed. “From what I understand, that unfortunate vampire series seems to be regarded as a literary masterpiece by many of your generation.” 

The disbelief was quickly disappearing in place of a searing tide of red-hot fury, rolling over her spine and clouding her brain. She could practically feel the brain-to-mouth filter she had tried so hard to maintain dissolve in a matter of seconds.

Screw the job.

“Okay, first of all, asshole? I’m only five years younger than you,” Darcy snapped, letting her hands slam onto the keyboard as she stood up abruptly. Ignoring his wince at the jarring, discordant slur from the piano and the screech of the piano bench against the wood floor, she continued, “And second? I got my bachelor’s degree at fucking Julliard, so for fuck’s sake, don’t treat me like I’m a goddamn middle school fangirl taking lessons for the first time!” 

At her spitting reply, he cocked his head, studying her. She knew what she probably looked like — blush disappearing down her blouse collar, forehead creased, eyes narrowed. All together not a pretty picture, especially in front of a unfairly handsome British virtuoso, but at that moment she couldn’t really bring herself to give a damn. 

He hummed, the noise sounding suspiciously like approval. “Fair enough.” He sat in the swivel chair by the piano bench, absentmindedly spinning in a few circles before letting the chair bring him to a stop. “Play your favorite piece.” 

Snorting, she mock bowed at him as she fixed the bench and sat down. “As his highness commands,” she muttered and rolled her eyes. 

Darcy cut off his responding laugh with a loud, pounding chord progression, noting with immense satisfaction that he had jumped when she abruptly started with the low and heavy notes. Lips curling up in a smirk, she glanced over to see his startled features, and he met her cocked eyebrow of challenge with another, quieter chuckle as he moved closer. 

“Prokofiev, Dance of the Knights,” she heard him murmur in recognition, a distinct note of curiosity in his tone. “Interesting.”

It was as easy as breathing, feeling her fingers slide over the lacquered keys in a dance that seared itself into her memory long ago. Fingers jumping across the keyboard with a dexterity she had once only dreamed of accomplishing, she lost herself in the narrative as she closed her eyes, the melodies from each hand fighting for dominance within the space of the room as she let herself slip away. 

She played like she was well and truly lost, completely unaware of his presence, and so Darcy didn’t notice the green gaze fixed on her expressive face, pupils blown and dark with lust, nor the large, slim hands that clenched the chair’s armrests with a knuckle-white grip.