A/N: Well, here it is. Another Muse contest.

I suppose it was quite cheap of me to post this as a contest. It was originally a one-shot I was writing (I mentioned it to some of you), but I just couldn't for the life of me figure out how to finish it. Like, I knew what I wanted to happen, but I'd just gotten stuck.

I knew for sure that I would never finish it. Furthermore, I realized that if I didn't post it as a writing contest, it would probably never even see the light of day—which would be quite sad, as I'm rather proud of it. I take pride in how I've grown as an authoress these past few years.

Anyway, onto the rules!

#1. Please review this or message me if you plan on entering the contest.

#2. Spread the word about this? I know that the Musefic community has really grown lately, and due to my recent eight-month-long disappearance, not many of the new Musefic authors actually know about me. I'm not asking you to advertise me or anything—I just think it'd be a huge let-down if practically no one did this.

#3. This fic is completely inspired by 'The Drumming Song' by Florence + the Machine. If you need ideas to continue it, definitely look up the lyrics/listen to the song. If you don't want to continue with the Florence theme, though, go ahead.

#4. There is no time limit for entries. You may enter at any time.

#5. As you can probably tell from reading, this is a very oneshot-type fic. It's definitely not intended to be a full story. If you would like to turn it into a full story, by all means, please do. But just know that I don't expect anyone to add 50k words to this.

#6. There are no content rating restrictions. Anything from playing Candy Land to having kinky sex—write whatever you want. ;D

#7. Please give me and/or the contest credit for the beginning. You can do this in the summary or an author's note, I don't care, as long as people know it came from here. :)

I think that's it, then. Have at it, everyone!

-Lily

There's a drumming noise inside my head that starts when you're around.

Of course, I'm never entirely sure if it's in my head. It could be your phenomenal virtuosity in action, or my heart pounding to the internal chant of your name. But it's there, I'm sure of it. I could swear that you can hear it sometimes.

Right now, it's both. They're in tune to each other, mingling and dancing, hypnotically polyrhythmic. I stand in the doorway, watching your brilliant mind at work, but you're so involved in your passion that you don't seem to notice me, even as I take step after step closer to you. You have a sheen of sweat on your forehead, eyes closed, having shed your jumper on the floor long ago. You're clearly improvising and yet it's perfection. I say nothing, but keep staring, keep listening to the drumming noise all around me and inside me. It's beautiful and disturbing and infatuating. I'm addicted.

But it can't stay like this forever. I inadvertently clear my throat, which forces you out of your musical reverie. You're so startled by the switch that a drumstick goes flying in the air and lands at my feet, but I don't bat an eyelash. I just keep gazing at you, lost in the now monorhythmic pattern pounding away inside my mind.

"Oh...hey," you greet me breathlessly. You seem embarrassed that I've caught you in such a vulnerable state, but I don't regret witnessing the fascinating scene.

"Hey," I respond quietly. I'm now stood only a few feet away from your set, having taken slow steps during your drumming spell. "Did you just make that up?"

"Basically, yeah," you reply. "Matt was playing something on piano earlier and it just...got me thinking."

You stand up, hand on the back of your neck, eyes searching the floor. Looking for your other stick?

I bend to retrieve the one that went airborne the minute before, taking the final steps forward and handing it to you. "Here," I say with a small smile.

"Thanks..." You take it from my hand, our fingers brushing together slightly. My scalp tingles and I sigh, relishing the feeling. I'm not sure, but I think I see you shiver slightly too.

"Why did you come in here?" you ask, making eye contact for the first time this afternoon. "I mean, not that I don't want you in here, just the opposite in fact...I mean, hi."

I'm slightly perplexed, but decide to answer your first question first. "I don't know," I respond, "I just heard you playing from upstairs and wanted to see."

"Good," you murmur lightly.

The pounding subtly continues, compelling me to inquire. "Why?"

You shift your weight onto one foot, clearing your throat. "This might sound strange, but you were on my mind while I was playing. And then you showed up."

"Oh?" I reply, quirking an eyebrow. But I can't completely suppress the sorrow within me at your words. It only reminds me that I can never be good enough, never be worthy of your affection. Because whenever you admire me, it only reminds me that you shouldn't, that I don't deserve it. "And what, pray tell, were you thinking?"

You smirk. "I was remembering that prank we played on Matt last year. You know—that thing with the porcupine."

I giggle slightly, which soon evolves into a fit of cackles. You join in, reveling in the memory.

As your chuckles begin to die down, I absentmindedly swing my hand up a bit, lightly tracing the outline of one of your cymbals. When I let my hand drop, my eyes flit back up to yours.

You're staring at me. Your expression is intense—threatening, almost—as you pierce me through with your gaze.

***continue from here***