A/N: Finally! A Glee fic. Ficlet, actually. Had to write something about my fav. character! Just a short lil oneshot that came to me. Enjoy, and Merry Christmas!
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A plethora of notes fills the room, woven clouds of high and low, sharp and flat and major riding on the winds of wistfulness. A gossamer web of intricate patterns, perfect and slick, dappled with the dew of wonder. A person sits, listening, eyes shut, fingers dancing over keys of snow and night. Their body sways slightly, filled with the music that skilled appendages bring forth.
It is a boy, some would say a teenager. A scarf of delicate cashmere drapes his shoulder, adorning a fitted woolen sweater. He presses his lips together, sweat beginning to break out on his brow as he reaches the crescendo.
An unseen watcher leans in the doorway, arms and legs crossed casually, but their face is tensed, brow creased in mixed emotions. Concerned, maybe, or concentrated. Peering in on this little slice of the player the watcher has never seen before. Red and green gives the room a festive look, but the sounds coming from the grand black instrument in the middle of the room do not match the atmosphere. They are dark and slow, infused with the agonized passion of their creator.
The watcher is almost as lost in the music as the player, every note percolating the soul, piercing their heart. A swell of emotion rises through the place, bringing a lump to the throat, but then…. A sudden halt. A wrong note, sharp instead of flat, a tingling, and the player slumps, right hand going to his eyes.
The watcher steps forward tentatively, keeping quiet, and the player's shoulders begin to shake. The watcher is uncertain now, lip pulled up through their teeth. Quiet sobs echo throughout the space, an entirely different kind of music. Something changes in the watcher's eyes, and they step forward, gently placing a hand on the broken player's shoulder, startling them.
The player jumps, sitting up immediately and nearly knocking over the sturdy bench they sit on. Sorrowful, angry bloodshot eyes shoot up to the watcher, a hint of fear lurking in their tormented depths. But upon seeing the identity of the watcher, the fear is dissipated, replaced with a surge of liquid.
"What are you doing here?" Come the hushed inquiry, as the player moves over to create a space for their new companion.
"I… We don't have one at home."
"Kurt… it's Christmas. You shouldn't be here, you should be at home, with your dad…. How did you get in, anyway?"
Kurt's feet shuffle awkwardly, jaw shifting. "It wasn't locked. I guess.. guess they don't expect anyone to be here on Christmas. That, or the janitor forgot… again."
"Where's your dad? Won't he be missing you?"
"He's at work."
"Today?!"
Kurt shrugs. "He doesn't… doesn't like holidays. They remind him.. of her."
The watcher nods knowingly. "I'm sorry, Kurt. I… You shouldn't be here, but… I won't say anything." They stand to go.
"Wait!" Kurt raises a hand. "Please, don't… don't go."
The watcher halts. "Kurt, I really can't…" The words trail off at a glance to those deep, still watery eyes, and a sigh escapes. "Okay. You really should go home…"
"I notice you're not at home, either." A finely-shaped arched eyebrow speaks volumes.
The watcher shifts this time, black shoes squeaking against each other.
"That's what I thought."
The silence that settles now is not awkward, but the comfortable kind, as of a pause in friendly conversation. After a while, the music starts up again, a quieter, lighter tune this time. It is short.
"I really didn't know you could play like that, Kurt. You sure never showed us. That could be a huge thing for Glee. How come you never said anything? I knew you could play, but that…"
"She taught me. At least, started to. When I was two. I've been… learning by myself since."
"Wow," the watcher breathes.
Kurt runs his hand over the tools to the instrument he sits at, adoration filling his expression.
"It's a way… to express myself. To just.. let it out sometimes. All we have at home, though, is an electric one. It's nice, but… not the same."
The watcher nods in understanding.
"Hey… how 'bout a cup of cocoa?"
The eyebrow is raised again, now with a slight tilt of the head. "Cocoa?"
"Uh, sorry… Mocha?"
"Better." Kurt stands, daintily brushing of his pants, adjusting his scarf.
The watcher turns away slightly, a bright, gentle smile dressing their face. That… was more like it. As both turn to go, Kurt looks longingly one last time at the majestic black shaped standing regally in the middle of the room, a nearly silent sigh accompanying his quirked cheek.
Mr. Shuch smiles as he flips the light off, having an idea of their next Glee fundraiser.
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A/N: You like? Angsty-ish and fluffy at the same time. I know I need to work on the characters and stuff, but I just wrote this on a whim. It's not meant to be perfect. It's a very unlikely scenario, anywho, but like I said, on a whim. Not beta-ed, did the best I could with what I had. Hope you liked it! Christmas greetings to all.