title: Mother Knows Best
rating: G
summary: Perhaps, she was the melody to his music.
notes: Ooooh, my first La Corda drabble. It's a drabble, told from the POV of Len's mother whose name escapes me now. Read and be fluffy. :D
ooooo
I knew it.
That was what she'd said to her son, but back then he had been confused by what she meant. She looked at her then, and then back at him, and she smiled knowingly, in the way that mothers did when they foresaw something that their children did not.
There had been a reason for the change in his music, for his sudden decision to join in her concert that evening. There had been a reason for wanting to perform that night, to prove something that night - and there she was, right now, playing her violin alongside her son in their garden below.
The girl was not as excellent a violinist as her son, but there was something charming and beautifully honest in her music; her stance was that of her holding the instrument close to her heart, acknowledging that it was a part of her she truly loved. Perhaps it was that that won him over, he being a musician who had never learned to love it. Perhaps it was the innocence of her music, so warm, so alive in spirit and completely opposite to his own precise, cold tune. Perhaps, she was the melody to his music.
Every so often she'd commit an error; after all, it was a new piece for the school's summer festival, and they had been tasked to duet. Her son was one she knew to possess an intolerance for mistakes, but it hardly surprised her to see him so gentle toward this girl who was responsible for many things. He put down his violin and his bow, turned to her and reprimanded her gently for her mistake. He spoke to her, his fingers slightly guiding her arm to the correct angle, quite unaware of how the girl's face began to flush at his touch, and how his own pale complexion began to color.
When she ran the bow against the strings, and heard it sound better than before, she began to smile in thanks. And quite unlike the boy that she'd seen him grow up to be, his mother saw him smile back - gently, fondly, at this girl who'd changed him bit by bit.
I knew it.
And she was happy to know it, happy for his son who'd finally found this someone who made him play the way her husband made her when she played the piano.
The girl continued to practice, and her son continued to watch her - unknowingly, unaware of what was there and what could potentially be. Despite his characteristic serious disposition, he was only a child, after all, who could not recognize affairs of his own heart.
Mothers knew not only what was best, but everything else, after all; she knew her son to be in love, and she smiled.