Elliot can remember a time when he still had control of his life.
It wasn't even very long ago. Not two weeks back he could make it straight home from his classes, lost to his surroundings for the music ringing in his thoughts and beelining for the piano as soon as he came in the front door. If he didn't sleep it was the music keeping him awake, the ring of the piano keys under his fingers, everything in his life centering on that one obsession until there was no space for anything else.
It was the fault of that single-minded focus that brought him swinging around a corner faster than he should have taken it, that dreaming inattention to his surroundings that kept him from noticing the dark-coated oncomer until a collision was inevitable. Elliot had slammed in against unexpected resistance, a shoulder digging in against his chest and blowing all the air out of his lungs, and it was while he was still gasping for air that a sharp-edged voice snapped "Watch where you're going!"
"You ran into me," Elliot started to say, ready to offer defensive protest even in the face of the evidence. Then he had looked up from the hand pressed to the rising bruise over his chest, met the glare the stranger was giving him from under the curtain of his over-long bangs, and all his newly-reclaimed air left his lungs all at once.
"Oh," he said, sounding soft, shocked out of any aggression he had. "Hello."
The other boy blinked, drawn back like he was trying to get out of Elliot's range. He looked up through his hair, still, his chin dipped down to cast his entire face into shadowy suspicion. Elliot could barely see the dark of eyelashes framing the color of his eyes, was sure the shadow was hiding the details of the other's gaze, and even then they were the most beautiful eyes Elliot had ever seen in his entire life.
"What's wrong with you?" the other demanded. Elliot couldn't look at his mouth, could barely hear the snap of irritation in his throat; his head was spinning, notes scattering from dozens of half-finished pieces to reform into something brighter, warmer, more suited to the piercing beauty in front of him. "Are you going to apologize or just keep blocking my way?"
"Sorry," Elliot blurted, not sure what he was apologizing for anymore, only that the boy in front of him apparently wanted such. The other's eyebrows had relaxed, his expression shifting from anger into something closer to disdain, and Elliot offered his hand in some desperate half-thought attempt to reclaim his composure.
"I'm Elliot Nightray." The other just kept staring at him, hands unmoving from his sides and gaze fixed in judgment at Elliot's features. The pause went long, drawing awkward in the moment before Elliot took a breath and tried prompting. "You are…?"
"Leo," the other said, snapping the name out. He looked away from Elliot's face, shoved past him and his outstretched hand to continue around the corner. Elliot turned, trailed him back out onto the street even though it was in the opposite direction of his apartment.
"That's a nice name," he tried, desperate to get something more of a reaction. Leo looked back at him, the light catching his features for a moment and throwing them into artistic relief. Elliot couldn't breathe right, like Leo's shoulder had knocked the memory of breathing from him along with his air. "Where are you going?"
"Work," Leo said. "You apologized already, go away."
"I'm sorry for running into you," Elliot babbled. "Let me make it up to you. Please."
He could hear Leo's huff of frustration. "You want me to hold your hand and tell you everything's alright and you're forgiven?" Leo drew to a stop in front of a shop door, fished a set of keys from his pocket to unlock the door. "Fine, you're forgiven. Feel better?"
Elliot didn't. His heart was pounding in his chest, all the music in his head rising to some grand finale. The door to the shop came open, carrying the scent of flowers with it, and inspiration struck.
"Let me buy some flowers." Leo moved into the shop, didn't hold the door; Elliot caught it anyway, stepped forward into the perfume-hazed warmth of the shop. "A bouquet. For my apartment."
Leo stepped around the counter to the back of the shop, dropped his keys onto the counter. "You're an idiot." He said it calmly, like he was just stating facts, and then he turned back around to face the door. The plate glass behind them was shining gold with sunlight, the illumination pouring through the space to light all the flowers on fire with color, and it caught Leo's eyes, too, set off the glow of purple rich enough for a king.
Elliot was lost, then, lost in the ringing crescendo in his head as all his notes fell into place at once. He barely looked at the bouquet Leo pushed across the counter at him, paid no attention at all to the cost. He got home late, that night, set the flowers within sight of the piano and started to play without sheet music, let the aggression of remembered words and the shadowed glow of purple eyes guide his fingers instead.
By now every surface in his house is covered, vases of flowers filling the room until his apartment smells as sweet as Leo's shop. Elliot barely sleeps at all, now, for framing the play of notes still rushing through his mind with the insistence of his new muse, with dark hair and unbelievable eyes and the sharpest tongue Elliot's ever heard.
He needs Leo's song to be perfect, for the day he finally persuades the other boy to come home with him.