He'd said to just meet him in the student center, but it had started snowing with abandon since Sora got out of class, and he was not about to brave the entire freezing quad in a hoodie and fingerless gloves. He was much more motivated to vend himself some hot chocolate from the library lobby, dash across the street to the fine arts building, and just wait for Riku outside the practice rooms.

At first, he couldn't quite remember where the practice rooms were—whether they were on the first floor or the second, in the east wing or the west. He honestly didn't spend a lot of time here, since his classes were held elsewhere and Riku always insisted they meet at other places across campus.

He entered in from the growing blizzard to a cluster of art studios where clay dust coated the linoleum and students toted large portfolios from room to room. At the far end of the main hallway, past displays of wheel-thrown pottery and alumnus paintings, a set of wooden doors opened up into a small atrium where way-finding signs pointed to the music department offices and stage entrances. Deciding that the practice rooms must be on the second floor, Sora ducked into the nearest stairwell and was greeted instantly by the sound of flute music trickling down.

Whoever the flutist was, they were stationed way up in the third-floor catwalks― higher than Sora intended to go, since one of the first things he saw on the second floor was a paper "practice room" sign, complete with a helpful arrow.

Well out of public view, the second story was significantly less furnished than the first. Plaster-white concrete walls forming narrow hallways, simple fliers and housekeeping reminders the only décor. The twittering song of the stairwell flute fell behind him, and was replaced by the slow, tenebrous moaning of a violin, resonating from some deep and distant corner of the concrete maze.

Now, Sora imagined, that with the sound-proofing being as poor as it was, he could just as easily have heard some horrific cacophony of individual instruments wailing in an unsynchronized twang; but, as luck had it, there was only one musician practicing at the moment, and he had a strong suspicion that it was Riku.

It was inching past four-forty. Riku usually practiced until about five. If Sora was quiet, and didn't draw Riku's attention, he might actually get to enjoy his friend's music.

It was strange, but not unexpected that Riku demanded such a high level of privacy when it came to his music. He had never been deliberately outgoing or grandstanding, and had expressed his aversion to any kind of public performance numerous times in the past. Stage fright (or perhaps just stage repulsion) only seemed natural for an introverted photography major, and Sora had never once felt inclined to pester him about it. No, what always caused Sora's eyebrows to raise was the almost guilty way that Riku guarded this single extracurricular pursuit of his.

When they were in grade school, Riku's mother insisted he take up music as a productive outlet, and he must have come to enjoy it, because he'd been playing for nine years now. Even though he didn't participate in orchestras anymore, Sora knew that he still played because Riku told him so. Oh, he never showed him- never invited him over to hear the latest piece he'd mastered, or offered to fill some empty hour with music, like many musicians were wont to do. But Sora never held it against him, so long as he was happy.

But that wasn't to say that Sora was about to pass up the opportunity to eavesdrop.

He still remembered when Riku got his first violin. He'd tried to draw the bow without any rosin, and then proceeded to snap one of the strings when he attempted to tune it. Sora assumed that his skills had vastly improved since then, and was eager to hear what kind of music his friend was able to produce.

No longer in need of signs, Sora dropped his empty hot chocolate in the trash and took to following the music, like a rhythmic beacon through the drafty white halls. As he drew closer, the music took on more and more shape. He didn't recognize the melody, but he didn't need to. It was gorgeous.

It rose and fell like sleeping breath, like glistening black waves lapping along a smooth and silver beach—each note a rolling grain of sand, a single star in a melodious midnight sky. Rhythmic and slow. Roiling and rich. Sometimes the music rose delicately in pitch, fluttering like eyelashes before melting back into the signature deep register of the piece.

Sora turned a corner at the end of the hall, arriving at a bay of instrument lockers that spanned the wall opposite the practice rooms. All but one of the doors were open. The lone strain of music had grown almost defaming in its proximity. With an imperceptible flutter in his chest, Sora approached the only door that had been pulled to, and, careful not to make himself visible, peeked through the hatched pattern in the panel window.

Well, that was Riku all right. With his starlight hair feathering out across the nape of his neck, hanging in soft splinters above his eyes. His tell-tale winter jacket hanging from a peg on the wall. He was scanning a stand of sheet music through his reading glasses, a pair of low-key frameless specs that sat comfortably just below the bridge of his nose. There were other features Sora could have described―the unused piano at the back of the small room, or the fact that Riku had stripped down to his sleeveless undershirt for comfort, but frankly, his attention was completely robbed by one thing.

He had never seen Riku quite like this before.

The music he made was lovely, but there was something unspeakably beautiful about the way he furled in on himself when he played, like a maelstrom in slow motion, or a burgeoning rose blossoming in reverse. Riku hated being watched; but Sora couldn't pull himself away.

It was just so recklessly intimate—the tranquil, time-stopping stagnation of the slivering air between the violin's varnished body and its master's unwavering chin. Each stolen breath flavored with the velveteen reverberations of a gold-rosined bow that rasped and sighed over weathered strings, falling as smooth as a blue summer deluge from his white, draping wrist.

And then there were his fingers, whirling over the violin's neck like lens flares—sliding and arcing and fluttering from string to string. Each finger was poised in a steady, masterful curl, his knuckles a regal ridge of snowcapped mountains, the prominent carpal bones of his hand rippling beneath his skin, showing every small flicker of muscle as he played.

Riku's music was starting to race. The bow halted and changed direction faster and faster in his grip, drawing shorter breaths, gasping and sawing and stippling the air with notes. Sora had long since given up on being cautious, and was practically pressing his nose to the glass. He worried that if Riku continued down this path of newfound ferocity, he might snap his strings, or break his bow. He might even catch fire, or swallow himself up in a burst of music and light like an angel who'd been called back to heaven.

That might have been a bit dramatic; but Sora's heart was beating a little harder with the suspense that each rapid riff supplied. Riku wasn't making a single mistake—not that Sora's untrained eyes could perceive, anyway. His mouth was cracked open in second-hand concentration, his crystal eyes vivid beneath his lashes. He cradled the instrument so naturally on the crest of his shoulder, leaned his chin into its rest like it belonged there. His entire torso moved with the music, his shoulders swaying, the violin's tuning knobs swinging in shapeless patterns. Sora swore he saw Riku's stomach cave with exhalation, slowly filling back in as he controlled his breath.

"Wow…"

The piece continued to escalate until its very last note, which Riku held for several weightless seconds by pulling the bow in a long, slow sweep, finishing it with one final push across the strings and flourishing it off into the air. He slumped against the back of his chair and sighed through his nose—only to jump right back up when Sora started clapping passionately from the window, shouting "Bravo! Bravo!"

Visibly disturbed, Riku clamored to stuff the violin back into its case, slipping the bow under an elastic strap and struggling to keep the glasses from falling right off of his face. He wrenched the door open, his features still profoundly startled.

"Sora! I thought I told you to wait in the student center—"

"It was too cold," Sora whined unashamedly. "I didn't wanna walk across the whole quad in just this." He yanked at his hoodie and hunched his shoulders like that should have been obvious. "Plus it's snowing penguins and polar bears out there."

Riku relaxed enough to cock his eyebrow in judgment. "Penguins and polar bears? Seriously?"

"Yes. Like, actual animals are falling from the sky. It's terrifying."

A brief smile, but no amount of comedy was going to cure the fervid blush rising from Riku's face. "Sora, how long were you out here?"

Sora prodded him in the chest. "Long enough to know that you've been holding out on me. Riku, that was amazing!"

More blushing. "Well, y'know…That tends to happen when you practice something for several years."

Sora shook his head. "That wasn't just practice. You were really into it, weren't you?"

Riku looked freshly alarmed, and responded by plucking off his glasses and turning around to pack up his things. Sora frowned and followed him into the small room, pushing the door shut to clear up some space. "I didn't mean it as a bad thing," he explained. "I've just never seen you get so…lost in something, Riku. It's…I dunno…"

"Weird?"

Beautiful.

Sora shook his head again even though Riku wasn't looking at him. "It's not weird! Riku, I think it's great that you found something you enjoy so much."

"It gives me a chance to clear my mind," Riku said offhandedly, though Sora could tell he was deliberately downplaying it, and it dawned on him that his friend's reclusive tendencies may not have been the byproduct of embarrassment or nerves, but rather an attempt to protect a sort of sanctuary he'd built for himself. Riku didn't face any particular hardships, but he was known to sit and steep in his own negativity like a cold black brew.

"Gets you out of your own head, huh?"

A heartbeat of hesitation. "Yeah…" Riku snapped his glasses case shut and propped his instrument against the chair, straightening up and shrugging back into the layers of clothing he'd shed. "My teachers always wanted me to perform, but I never really wanted to play for other people. I've always felt better just…playing for myself. For the feeling, I guess."

"I understand." Sora smiled in apology. "I'm sorry. I guess my curiosity got the better of me. I know I should've left you alone, but when I saw you play…" He rubbed the back of his neck and gave an embarrassed chuckle. "I dunno, it was just hard to walk away, I guess."

Riku lifted his coat off the wall peg and draped it over his arm, turning back to Sora curiously. "You liked the music that much, huh?"

"The music was great, but…" Sora took his turn to blush a little and avoid his friend's gaze. "I really liked watching you play. …It's not a side of you I get to see very much. …It's nice."

"Yeah?"

"Yeah."

A genuine smile cleared all of the uncertainty from Riku's face. He picked at some stray fibers on his coat for a moment and took a couple of lazy steps toward Sora.

"Well, maybe if you're really good…I might play for you again. Only, y'know, on purpose."

Sora looked up at him with a brilliant smile. "Really?"

"If you're good," Riku emphasized, opening up his coat and holding it out like it was Sora's. "Here. I can't play for you if you freeze to death."

Sora squinted distrustfully. "You also can't play for me if you freeze to death—which I'm sure is why you're offering me your coat." He rejected the coat with a shove of his hand, but Riku simply sidestepped him and fluidly slipped the first sleeve over his arm, chuckling as he fitted it over Sora's shoulders and wrestled his other arm into its sleeve.

"You caught me," he said remorselessly, zipping the black coat up to Sora's chin and playfully dragging the hood over his eyes. "I would much rather die in a penguin-and-polar-bear-blizzard than play music for my best friend."

"Don't underestimate the penguins and polar bears," Sora huffed, blue eyes peeking out from under Riku's hood. "Especially when they're falling from the sky."

Riku scooped his instrument case off the floor and nudged Sora aside so he could open the door. "C'mon, dork. I'm hungry."

"Fine."

While he'd put up a fight out of habit, Sora was actually very pleased to have commandeered Riku's nice, warm coat. Though he was a little concerned about the low-level protection Riku's jacket would give him. "It is actually pretty bad out there," he said.

"I'll survive."

Sora crossed his arms. "Okay, but when you and your violin become one big icicle, don't come crying to me."

"How could I? I'd be an icicle."

Deflated by his friend's snarky comeback, Sora rolled his eyes and followed him out into the hall. "You're right," he conceded. "You'll probably get taken out by a polar bear before you freeze anyway."

Riku shrugged, unconcerned. "If I see one coming at me, I'll just use you as a human shield." Having said that, he whirled around and dove for Sora's middle, scooping him up onto his shoulder like a sack without even dropping his instrument. Sora yelped and flailed, but didn't get far. He figured Riku would have to put him down when they got to the stairs, but then he heard the ping of elevator doors sliding open, and realized that he wasn't escaping any time soon. But, if this was what it took to earn a private performance from Riku, Sora certainly wasn't going to fight it. Instead he went along for the ride, letting memories of his friend's peaceful, rhythmic violin playing bring him small and stupid smiles.