A/N: Everything is Hima's... Written for 365daysofusuk on Tumblr. Alfred and Arthur as music students of the highest caliber.
He rapped his knuckles against the table. Then, subconsciously, on the third beat, flicked the empty beer tumbler sitting in front of him. The 'ping' noise rang out in time to the music flowing through his earbuds, juxtaposed against the faint, rowdy country music of the bar. The Mozart merrily skipped on, matching the beats of the windshield wipers, danced along with the droplets hitting the streets and shattering into pieces. Alfred stared moodily out the window.
Six hour days of practice. Eight hour days of playing to achieve perfection. Acceptance into one of the top universities, the crispness of the white paper fluttering out of the envelope.
There was no celebration, rather it was just what was expected. Music was life. Music dwelt in his blood. His soul.
Mozart was crap.
Alfred shifted in his seat. Knock, knock, ping. Knock, knock, ping.
If the universe laughed, it laughed along with Mozart.
"Hey, do you mind ..."
A hand with brilliant thin fingers grabbed his ringing third note. The glass was silent.
Alfred was not in the mood for this. His usual jovial earth shaking, shit eating grin was nowhere to be found.
Long fingers meant the violin. He looked at the douche who had stopped his ruminations.
Fuck you, went through his head, but the anger was not really meant for the annoyed man from the next table.
Large eyebrows ticked, and green eyes glowered.
Alfred felt the blush come from nowhere. Pretty lips, lush. His mind whirled mechanically backwards.
"Sorry. Didn't realize."
The man sighed, and gave a half grin, "didn't get in, did you?"
Alfred could have lied.
"No."
The man laughed and said in his queer British accent, "Neither did I."
Alfred popped out one of his earbuds, "Sucks to be us." The triviality melded with the bar music.
"Wotch u listening to?"
"Mozart."
A grimace. "Absolute rubbish."
They both laughed.
"Do you want a beer?"
The man's ungainly eyebrows rose, the tinny sounds emanating from the speakers fading.
"Sure." Cautious. Hopeful.
Alfred smiled. Its brilliance causing a flush on the man's cheeks.
"Arthur."
"Alfred."
Next movement.
As their next beers came, Alfred became suddenly conscious of everything. Meeting new people and becoming friends was easy and was like breathing, but in this case, suddenly it seemed if there was no air to breathe.
Arthur's foot bumped into his own under the table and the table suddenly seemed too small.
Alfred fiddled with his iPod, fighting the dam of babbling words ready to overflow through his mouth. To quell the nervous laughter; he bit his tongue in anxiety.
Mozart was gone, transcendence removed, and Shania Twain from the overhead speakers had instead replaced his brilliance.
"Whose bed have your boots been under?" she sang. Questioning. Alfred felt a blush rise at the mention of bed, and an overly active imagination was spared for a moment envisioning the horrors of telling his parents of his failure, filled rather with the skinny Brit across the table in boots.
Those green eyes caught his own, the lush lips flickered with a small smile, until they realized they'd been caught, and then glanced away. High cheekbones caught a flush, freckles disappearing under the glow.
Alfred grinned. And let his eyes take his fill in till he was caught staring.
"It's not the end of the world, you know." Arthur mused.
Soft clinks of a Guiness and Honeyweiss being set down. Alfred licked his lips, the murmur of the crowd, the country music droning, and Arthur's foot now doing a tattoo under the table. Quick time. Double time. Music flowed into Alfred 's head.
"I know. My teachers know. My friends know. But my parents don't."
"Don't?"
"Know." Now Alfred glowered, and Brit smugly smiled and hid it in the rim of his glass.
"You?"
The glass of Guinness came down a fourth empty, and Arthur's fingers nervously drummed the table. Alfred added it to his rhythm.
"Do you mind?" He joked, throwing the words that had meshed both of their music student loneliness in pity, by grabbing Arthur's tapping hand.
And immediately let go.
It had been wrong. Both of them turned red in their own way, pink notes on Arthur's cheeks, and a slow flush from neck to ears rose on Alfred.
How to explain it?
Raw energy? That moment that thrilled, the top of the crescendo.
Arthur was shrugging, his mouth quickly spitting back words , "Sorry, didn't realize."
Alfred's heart was pounding. He hadn't realized either.
"Like Mozart," he mumbled.
Arthur just sharply glanced at him. "Absolute rubbish."
Alfred grinned, the music in his head growing and breaking, "Nah." Shaking his head, putting his trembling hands around his beer glass, "Nah, it isn't."