An old thing I found sitting on my computer once. I liked it, so...
Wicked isn't mine. Which sucks.
xxx
He never walked around here, around this area, near the music room. Fiyero didn't play music. He could sing, perhaps, but he didn't play anything. He had never walked by the music room before, and he never knew that this kind of music was being produced from inside.
It was, truly, impossibly beautiful, incredibly precise, played at a positively outrageous tempo. It was the sound of a piano.
He had actually stopped in the middle of the hall, listening. He'd never been one for the classical music--he had never truly listened right.
But, now--the mood changed. What was it? It went from a lament to a serenade. Could you do that? Whoever was playing just had. It was smooth, gorgeous, and utterly perplexing. How were those hands creating such fluid emotions just by touching ivory keys?
And the touch on the keys--it had to be feminine.
He shook his head wildly, trying to decide whether or not to look inside the music room. The music changed once again, back to the original sadness, the original lament--he had to know the artist. Who was doing this?
Whose hands were these?
He touched the doorknob, resting his hand on it, feeling extremely uneasy. And the music changed again. It was quiet. Gentle. Relaxing. Despite himself, he turned the knob, just as the music ended.
There was a figure at the bench--a girl, with long, raven hair, hands still poised on the keys but making no sound. Her shoulders were rising and falling slowly, as though she were out of breath. He sighed without thinking, and she whirled around to face him--her skin was a vivid emerald.
"You!" she yelped, her face turning, if possible, a darker green. "What are you doing here? The door was supposed to be closed!"
"Sorry," he said sheepishly, not knowing what else to say, still struck dumb by the music she'd made. "I...couldn't resist."
"What?" she asked, narrowing her eyes, and he gulped, still at a near loss for words.
"You--that--it was--wow," he said breathlessly, moving towards her and staring incredulously at her hands. She blushed furiously.
"Thank you," she muttered, looking away. "But if you'll excuse me, free period will be over in a half hour, and I'd really wanted to get in some practicing--"
"May I stay?" The words had come out before he'd had any control over them, and she gawked at him.
"You want to?"
"Yes," he answered with a shrug, and her eyes widened.
"Well--okay," she said finally, blinking and sitting back down on the bench. She looked at the keys, then back at him.
"Am I distracting you?" he asked, smirking, and she rolled her eyes.
"No." She looked back at the keys, closed her eyes, opened them, and began to play. It was an explosive tempo--started extremely fast, and he'd known that it would only grow faster. It was a light waltz, reminiscent of a day in spring, or perhaps of a small puppy chasing its own tail. Her hands flew up and down the keyboard, barely touching the keys until the last octave, at which she let out a long sigh and smiled triumphantly. He reached out, amazed, and took her hand. Her eyes widened as she turned her head to him, but she didn't make a sound. He ran his thumb over each of her long, thin fingers, shaking his head in wonder, and slowly, their eyes fluttered closed. He leaned closer, and suddenly, Elphaba's elbow hit the keyboard, banging on four or five notes at the same time, reverberating through the room and sending the two flying apart with a jolt.
Elphaba was the first to recover, brushing herself off and keeping her head hidden, though he could tell she was blushing again, more violently than he'd seen her blush before. "I--I have to go," she said quickly, obviously not noticing that there were still fifteen minutes of free period left, and rushed out of the room, down the hall, and out of sight.
Fiyero watched her go, his hand still poised over the piano keys, where her hand had been not a second ago.
xxx
Green button.
Wants to be pushed.