Author's Note: Just a little oneshot I've been working on. Hope you like it, and let me know what you think! :)

Every note he played was a note for her.

She would never know it, of course; she was wrapped up in Wyatt and Jude and making sure they didn't get kicked out of the house - even though he would never, he would make sure of it - but every time his fingers brushed melodies across the keys, it was her who sat next to him. Her who gave him the motivation to play on, play more melodies that only increased in complexity.

With her, for her, he could play anything. He felt as though he could conquer the sky.

Every note he played was a note for her.

He was the Schroeder, except he wasn't, because Schroeder was married to his music, and while he loved his music, he loved other things too. And he'd love if Callie rested her arm on his keyboard and watched him play. She'd get that funny little smile pressing at the corner of her lips, and he'd stop playing long enough only to kiss that smile, over and over again.

He'd love the feel of her smile under his.

Every note he played was a note for her.

If only she knew.

She peeked her head inside his room one night as he was practicing. "You're really good, you know?" she said, one hand on her hip.

He didn't dare let himself get distracted by her compliment, as his fingers flowed delicately over the keys. The best part of the piece was coming up, and he wanted to impress his newfound audience. With a determined flourish, he reached the final crescendo, and then, faded out. He turned to face her. "Sorry, I don't like talking to people when I'm trying to concentrate," he said.

"No, no, it was really good," she said. "I like listening to you play."

"I'm not really used to having an audience. Mariana and Jesus barely seem to tolerate it, and the moms are never around."

She shrugged her shoulders and moved into the room to sit down on his bed. "I like it. It's relaxing."

"I'm glad someone enjoys it." He turned around to face her, and smiled at her. It was good to have a fan. One member of the Brandon's Piano Fan Club that actually lived with him, instead of just hearing a piece every so often when he went over there.

She smiled back. "I am too."

It became a bit of a habit; he'd start playing, and like clockwork, she'd show up at his door to listen. He'd test new pieces out on her before he'd inflict them on anyone else - yes, she was pretty much piano illiterate, but she seemed to enjoy it well enough. And if it sounded too much like a steaming pile of musical crap, she was willing to say it.

She didn't, usually, but that was beside the point. Normally, she was content to stand - or sit, if she moved into the main part of the bedroom - there and listen.

She was his muse; he played better when she was there than when she wasn't. Maybe some of it was psychological. Maybe he only felt like he played better, when it was really all about the same. Regardless, it was nice to share in these private little moments, when he played just for her ears only.

And every smile, every compliment he received in return was worth every second.

They just finished dinner one night; Jesus was washing the dishes and putting them in the dishwasher, and Brandon passed by Callie as he walked out of the kitchen. "I have a new piece I want you to hear," he said. "I'll be in my room." She made her way upstairs just behind him, and stood at her normal position, slouched against the doorframe, waiting for the music to begin and take her in. "You can come in," he said.

She took her other normal position, her palms resting against the comforter as she tucked her legs beneath her on the bed. "Did you write this, or did you find it in those books the moms gave you the other night to help you practice?" she said.

"No, this one is all original. Just the way I like it."

"The way I like it too," she said, and he placed his fingers on the keys and began to play. She was taken in instantly by the lush melodies and the charming quality of each note, and nodded her head along with the music. He really was a captivating piano player. Talented.

Before she knew it, the piece was over, and she rocked forward on her haunches. "That was - probably my favorite one I've heard from you -"

Honesty was the best policy, and with a compliment like that, he was hard-pressed to find a reason not to be honest with her. "I wrote it thinking of you."

"Of me?" She'd been given very few things over her life, at least since she entered the foster care system. None of the cheap candy bars or ice cream cones or the small stuffed teddy bear on a keychain could compare to a gorgeous piece of music like that being written for her.

"Yeah. These nights, when it's just the two of us - you're an inspiration to me."

"Brandon, I - I don't know what to say. Thank you."

"You're welcome." He turned back to the keyboard and hit a few keys absent-mindedly. She liked it, but she didn't understand what it meant. Of course, he hadn't explained it, maybe that was why, but he didn't write music for just anyone. He never had, not before her.

She stood up, crossed the patch of carpet that was between them. "No, really, thank you," she said, leaning down, closing her eyes, and kissing him softly, tentatively; the feel of her lips against his was enough to send tiny little sparks of light flashing before his eyes. "I - I don't know why -" Tiny little tears pricked at the corners of her eyes.

"Shhh, Callie," he said, extending an arm out to her and hugging her. "I'm not mad that you kissed me."

"You're not?"

"No? Why would I be?"

"Because I thought -"

"I wrote music for you. Doesn't that tell you how I feel about you?"

"Yeah, I guess you're right," she said, tilting her head and laughing a little, despite herself.

"Don't worry, this is our little secret," he said, squeezing her gently and letting her go. "I won't tell if you won't tell."

"And I have no reason to tell," she said, moving back to her position on the bed. "So, got anything else for me tonight? My own private concert."

"Oh, I think I can find something else to play," he said, letting his fingers glide over the keys and create another symphony of sound reverberating through the room. He would play every note, every song ever written - and some that weren't written yet - if it kept her as close as she was right now.

Slow and steady. Slow and steady.

Every note he played was a note for her.

And now she knew.

-fini-