Rainy Nights and Melodies/One-shot
Sum: A dancer with a peculiar love for rain. A runaway piano prodigy. A connection blooms. One-shot. Clace. OOC. AU. AH. Rated Kplus.
A/N: Hey. It's been a while, how are you?
**heads up there's probably going to be a rant-y part here because I'm emotional as shit and want to sort of explain the inspiration for this one-shot as I always do but I am kind of known for rambling on too long and being maybe a bit too detailed and going off on tangents so like skip this if you're not really interested in a long list of words that probably don't make any sense together just like this this is technically still one (grammatically incorrect) sentence enjoy my story thank you**
Okay so, you might just think, ey, it's summer, so summer-y happy fun one-shots, right, Bennie?
hELL nO! One thing that's kind of odd about me is the fact that I have summertime SAD, yes it's actually called SAD, aka seasonal affective disorder. Aka I fucking hate summer with a snowy passion. I didn't want to say fiery because that's too warm for me right now. I'm that one person who perks up during winter while everyone else becomes depressed, and that one depressed person while everyone else is happy. I'm also that person who fangirls about rain and thunderstorms, and I will one hundred percent sacrifice all my sleep to watch and listen to a thunderstorm do not doubt it. So, yeah. This is a one-shot set during autumn, and the main theme is rain. So enjoy this, while you're probably burning up in a humid oven.
Happy reading :)
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He damn well knew that the Angel Square Park was positively the most dangerous place to be at night in a busy city like Alicante, but he could not possibly give less of a shit.
There were some open spots in the park, where you could usually only see trees and nothing else, there would be stars. Bright, gorgeous stars that he could stare at for ages. Stars that were totally worth being stabbed to death for by some crazy late-night-park-dweller.
Even though Alicante was the capital and biggest city in the entirety of Idris, it was the clearest view he'd ever had of them.
He'd traveled to city after city, to village after village—after having been on the streets for seven years, he'd had enough time to do so.
There was a big homeless shelter in Alicante, but he knew that it was rather overcrowded at the moment, and he'd rather someone else have a spot, since he could hold up a fight if he were to be attacked in the streets. Of course, he would occasionally head over for a shower, and in the case he was really desperate, for food.
For the rest of the time, he just wandered around the city, with his keyboard that conveniently worked on batteries, and his cheap plug-in pedal. Sometimes, he'd come across a community piano, which randomly popped up from time to time, and play his heart out for several hours, relishing the feel of the weighted keys, the actually useful pedals...
He stared down at the flimsy, portable thing, with a mere 76 keys.
If he could, he'd spend all the money he earned on an acoustic one, or at least a stage piano, instead of on food. That, however, wouldn't be of much use, if he were dead.
His belongings were minimal, needless to say. He had a couple spare pairs of underpants, two pairs of socks total, stored in a duffel bag, his flimsy keyboard and the clothes on his body. He'd left the house with 200 euros cash, but after two years he desperately needed a change of clothes and spent whatever he had left on just that: a t-shirt (with multiple holes in it by now), a zip up hoodie, a worn out scarf, a beanie, by now fingerless gloves, torn jeans and sneakers that would soon meet their end.
So there he sat, on a bench, in an open spot in the park, with a perfect view of the stars and the stunning moon, with a duffel bag and a keyboard on his lap.
He sighed and flipped the switch.
And so, he began to play, to the moon, the stars, to all the people he used to know, to all his loved ones watching over him—but most of all to himself, to remind himself that there would always be a good thing in his life, no matter how shitty everything seemed. And so he played.
And so, the music set him free.
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He did not find sleep that night. Instead, he played until the sun rose up and the stars disappeared, until he had to go and try to survive for just one more day.
Usually, homeless people had quite a few friends in a similar situation, they would share their food and their stories, offer each other company and comfort, but Jace prefered solitude.
And so he wandered the streets, by now used to the judgemental glances he received from people who had had a better start in life. He'd been accused of being an alcoholic when he asked for change, a drug addict, a low-life who'd spend their first dime on a bottle of vodka.
Luckily, he'd encountered a good few people who genuinely seemed concerned, who bought food for him and wished him the best of luck. There would always be good in the world, no matter what, he knew that.
He'd reached so many low points in his life, barely anything bothered him any longer. He'd choose being homeless over going back home any day, if he was even welcome, anyway.
His wandering eventually led him to his first 'performance' of the day, and also the only exception to his solitude: Simon Lewis.
Lewis used to have a van when Jace met him, the nerdy looking guy had offered him shelter during a snowstorm, for which Jace had been eternally grateful. Sadly, he could no longer afford the van, but they still performed together, Simon on his violin, Jace accompanying him with his keyboard.
''Hey, dude,'' the brown haired man greeted him.
''Hey. What're we playing today?''
Simon held up a few papers. ''Did you study the sheets I gave you?''
''What else would I be doing with my time?'' Jace retorted rhetorically.
The violinist grinned, before pushing a fold-up stool toward the pianist, propping his violin against his neck.
They usually chose quite busy spots, after playing for an hour or two, they'd split the profits and agree to meet again the next day.
So, Jace took a seat, flipped the switch, and let his fingers and memory do the work for him.
And so they played, hoping to survive another day.
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He'd thankfully fallen asleep that night, on the same bench he'd visited the previous night, using the stars as his blanket and the moon as his nightlight.
When he was forced to open his eyes, instead of bright stars he saw only dark clouds. It took him a while to come to his senses, and feel the raindrops hitting his skin. Heavily.
''Fuck,'' he cursed, diving for the keyboard that he'd chained to his jeans with a padlock—you couldn't be too safe out there.
As fast as he could in his just-awake state, he hurried to the gazebo he knew to be close to him.
He hurried up the steps and let himself fall to the wooden flooring in exhaustion, hurting his bum, but at that point, he could not care less.
Once again, he allowed his eyes to fall shut, ready to fall asleep again right away.
''This spot's taken,'' a soft voice forced his eyes to open.
Across from him was a girl, and even in the pitch dark, her eyes were magnificently bright, enough so to make him suspect he was dreaming.
Discreetly, he pinched himself, yet she remained there.
She, with eyes bright enough to rival his beloved stars, hair curling in ringlets around her face where they peeked out of her hood.
Some might not have noticed, but he had gone through enough to spot the tear tracks on her face, to him as clear as black pen on white paper.
He swallowed the curiosity building on his tongue, instead rolling his eyes.
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''Public space, sweetheart, I can sit wherever I want in this park.''
His eyes were creepily bright, the most unusual shade of gold, she barely noticed them rolling out of annoyance.
She had the urge to wince as she thought back to what she had just said. Foolishly, she hadn't even looked over at the intruder before uttering the words, and he seemed annoyed.
In worn out, torn, soaking clothes, she was sure he didn't deserve snappy comments. She just couldn't help herself these days.
''S-Sorry.'' She looked away before he could notice the shameful blush coloring her cheeks, before she realized it was pitch dark, and he probably couldn't see a thing.
The sound of rain splashing against the ground filled the air, the smell of it filling her nose as she steadily inhaled it, allowing it to calm her pounding heartbeat and cool her flushed cheeks.
However, instead of being able to point all of her attention toward the rain, the silence between the man and her nagged her—she could almost feel the sting of his gaze on her skin.
Her curiosity peaked, she couldn't help but turn her head, to find him looking at her with equally curious, scrutinizing eyes. It seemed like he was itching to say something.
''Dangerous place to be for a young lady at night.''
She could tell that it wasn't what he originally wanted to say. For some reason, it felt like he knew.
The scars on his neck, the hard look in his eyes, the obvious walls up around him, it all spoke of struggle. For just a moment, she felt hopeful, felt like she had found someone who might understand, but quickly dismissed the thought. Why would she bother some poor man on the streets with her rich problems?
''I can handle myself.''
He snorted ungracefully, yet somehow managed to pull it off as attractive. This man was way too handsome to live on the streets.
Get yourself together, she thought to herself as she found herself lost in his amused eyes.
''So could a guy with a knife and a knack for collecting human teeth.''
She scoffed. ''What a waste, he'd be better off harvesting my organs and making some money with it.''
In the corner of her eye, she saw a flash, and immediately turned her head to the sky to watch a brilliant bolt of lightning illuminate the sky.
Almost immediately after, a thrilling thunder sounded, she could almost feel it through the soles of her shoes.
In an act of old reflex, she turned to tell him about it, only to scold herself mentally for her childishness—and to find him asleep.
He must've been exhausted, she thought.
And so she watched the rain, the lightning colouring the sky, listened to the thunder as if it were music.
Occasionally, she'd glance over at the mysterious man, and cast a last glance over her shoulder as she left.
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''Fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck!'' As soon as he'd run up the steps, he crashed to the ground, desperately flipping the switch on his keyboard.
Nothing.
This can't be happening, he thought angrily. He'd given all the money he'd earned the past week to a person in desperate need of food, he could not afford for his keyboard to give up now.
It had been a gift. Before he'd even begun making money on the streets, he had visited a little store everyday, where you could try out pianos and keyboards. He'd spend hours playing, entertaining customers just for the heck of it. When the story closed up due to insufficient funds, the owner had granted him the keyboard. It wasn't much, but to him, it was everything.
He unzipped his hoodie, using it as a rag in a final attempt to dry the device, shivering violently as the biting cold hit his skin.
One last time, he flipped the switch.
Please, please, please, he begged to no one in particular, hoping for a pinch of luck for once.
He almost did a happy dance as he saw the red light next to POWER turn on, but instead, he hung his head and groaned: ''Thank God.''
''Maybe you should find a cover for that thing.''
There she was.
It had been a whole two weeks since he had last seen her, and he was starting to believe she had indeed been a dream, but there she was, with those eyes brighter than the stars, and a soft voice he could listen to for days.
When she turned her head, he could see confusion colour her eyes as he did not seem surprised or shocked at the purple bruise marking her cheekbone.
Instead, he asked the only thing he though might actually help her.
''Are you alright?'' he sounded as genuine as he possibly could, truly curious to hear if she was still holding up.
She seemed almost relieved.
However, as she seemed to consider her answer, she hung her head in shame. ''I don't know.''
Her voice broke, a sound that squeezed his heart.
A tear ran down her cheek.
For a moment he hesitated, considered walking closer, but instead, leaned back against the railing and did the only thing he truly knew how to do.
He played.
This time, not for himself, not for the moon, nor the stars, nor his old friends, his mother and sister, who were surely watching over him. No, he played only for her.
A smile brightened her face, yet her eyes remained closed.
And then, she did something he would not have expected in a million years. Reaching down, she pulled her shoes off and discarded the thick hoodie that had previously hidden her hair, revealing the porcelain skin of her arms and her fiery curls, seemingly not affected by the cold.
On her thin socks, she began to move.
And so he played, and so she danced.
And so, they set themselves free—together.
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It was snowing now, the white flakes falling down and dampening his hair.
Some prick had stolen his beanie while he slept, and his gloves, fingerless and full of holes, weren't of much help either. The holes in the pockets of his hoodie kept them from getting warm, just like the wet denim of his jeans.
However, his wellbeing was the least of his worries.
He'd found her again.
Only, this time, she wasn't real, she was printed on a piece of paper. More bruises covered her face, her hands covering her mouth to seemingly silence her sobs, tears making their way down her cheeks. Once he managed to pull his eyes away from his dancer in the rain, he focused on the headline. And read it again, and again, and again, and again, until it had burnt its way into his brain.
'CLARISSA FAIRCHILD'S BOYFRIEND CONVICTED OF ABUSE', it said in bold, black letters.
The rest of the article further described how the famous dancer had been admitted to the hospital for severe injuries, before she came forward with a bold statement blaming her boyfriend of three years, famous actor Sebastian Verlac.
He felt strangely proud of her, and couldn't keep the smile off his face for the rest of the day.
It had been months since he'd last seen her, even though he came to the gazebo every single time it rained, hoping and praying to be graced with her presence again, her careful movements as she danced to his music, her soft voice.
He continued walking his usual route after having torn out the article and tossed the newspaper in the trash.
As he did everyday, he paused before the spot he used to play with Simon, which was now adorned with flowers and posters against violence.
Swallowing a lump in his throat, he stared down at the spot his friend had been beaten to death a month before, silently remembering him as he did everyday, before unfolding the stool they had always hidden in the area, and playing his heart out for his friend, not even bothering to place a bowl or anything for change.
He played for Simon, and Simon alone—and maybe a bit for himself, the very same piece Simon had last given to him to study.
Some people stopped to watch, some even shedding a tear or two, but Jace kept his eyes trained on his hands, which steadily moved along the worn out keys.
Simon had not deserved to go that way, but he had died bravely, protecting a girl's honor.
He played until it was night and could no longer feel his fingers, his stomach growled loudly. He had been feeling lightheaded for the last couple of days, but few people donated anything in this weather.
And, if he were completely honest, he wasn't trying anymore.
He felt he'd lived a fulfilled life. She had made it out, his Clarissa, she'd fought and won. He had helped many people, and he was content with that.
And so, he made his way to the all too familiar gazebo.
His keyboard he left unchained, he could not find the strength in his shaking fingers to secure it—he could barely find the strength to pull his knees up to his body, even shutting his eyes tired him.
As he let sleep find him, he wondered if his eyes would open again the next day.
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Was he dreaming, or was that her voice that he heard? Her presence, that he felt, like the sun shining on his skin? Had he died and gone to heaven?
''What's his name sweetheart?''
''J-Jace, I-I don't know hi-his last name.''
No, no, don't cry, he tried to say it, he tried to open his eyes, but he was too tired.
''Please, please help him, I-I'll pay for everything.''
Clary, you don't have to, I'll be fine! He wanted to move, he wanted to let her know he was alright—God, she sounded so worried, it nearly broke his heart.
But he was slipping away again, too tired to move, to tell her he was alright.
He wasn't giving up yet, though.
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''Fuck, who decided to throw the sun in my face?!'' he grumbled as he opened his eyes just a bit, instantly being stabbed by bright bolts of light.
''Jace!'' Immediately, he was covered by an angelic warmth, arms wrapping around his neck.
He blinked repeatedly, is this real? Am I really seeing her?
Yep, there she was, hanging on his neck like her life depended on it, before hastily pulling back and placing her hands all over him. ''Oh my God, are you alright? Are you hurting? Where does it hurt? Do you need water? Food? Can I—''
''Jesus, Clary, I'm fine.'' He steadied his hands on her shoulders, pushing her back a little bit so he could take in her face—oh, how he had missed those eyes, those freckles, that pink blush...
''Clary?'' Even he noticed his voice had gone strangely husky.
''Ye-ah?'' her voice broke a little, but it was the best sound he'd heard in months.
''Can I kiss you?''
Instead of granting him an answer, she blinked in surprise, before pressing her warm lips against his chapped ones.
And so they kissed, sharing their breaths as if they were one.
And so they kissed, two broken souls, one whole together.
And, so, they kissed—and set each other free, together.
A/N: Boom. I'm going to sleep now, I've to get up really really early, so no recommendations, sorry :(
Review :*
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Waffles out.