Louis' POV
The orchestra rang out then cut off with such sudden uproarious finality that Louis found it hard to understand how. The small boy – August's baton was hanging limp at his side, the performance seemingly forgotten, and he was staring down at him with such intensity. Those bright blue eyes piercing his. A broad, lopsided smile stretched across his face and again Louis found himself utterly enthralled by this child. He couldn't take his eyes off him. Which was nothing short of remarkable considering the woman standing next to him. Her hand gently placed in his. But as the echo of the final note faded, he felt her shift, drawing his attention back to her. She stepped forward with a choked sob, hand delicately placed over her mouth, and water shining in her eyes as she stared up at August. The look on her face stole his breath away. It was reverent. He wondered what it must be like to be looked at by her that way. Without thought, he moved with her. Hand now in hers there was no way he would be breaking that contact voluntarily. And it was all he could do not to release a sob himself when, as they moved forward, she threaded her fingers through his, clutching his hand tightly. He thought he'd finally begun to let go of dreaming of these hands after that day in Chicago. What it felt like to have them stroke his cheek, thread through his hair, clutch his back. His already hopeless heart now hollow as a dream ended, no matter how unlikely it was to begin with. She was happy, far away, and with another. Someone who she loved. He truly thought he'd never see her again. And this time he believed it. But whatever force had compelled him to seek out the source of that music had sought otherwise.
'I'm coming', he heard her call out as she turned and began to dash along the fence line. Not even glancing back as she pulled Louis forward in tow. He didn't hesitate. He kept pace with her wordlessly. This wasn't a moment for questions. He knew they would only invite answers he wouldn't want. The whys. The years between them. Details of her full and happy married life. He just wanted to hold onto this a bit longer. This feeling. This wholeness. This current. It had been over a decade since he had last felt this way. He'd tried to explain it to Marshall once when he was berating him for his misery.
'How can ya' be so fuckin' torn up with a girl you had for one god damn night bro?'.
'Because when your world has been set alight – with bloody moonlight, a commit, a god damn super nova – then everythin' is darkness when it's gone. Everythin' that seemed alive before just isn't. Like me.'
'You melodramatic fuck, at least do somethin' useful with that bullshit and put it into a song. Just drop the cliché.'
But that is what Marshall never got, he thought. The music leaves you when you're not alive. But here, in this moment, it was all he felt. His soul was vibrating with it.
As they moved, he realised it was August she had called up to. He snuck a glance back and saw the lad perched at the very edge of the stage like he was ready to leap off. The orchestra was standing and bowing behind him. An older woman with her hair pulled back tightly from her face walked forward from the side of the stage and reached out to place a hand on his shoulder, seemingly trying to redirect his attention, and get him to take his bow. But his eyes were glued to Lyla and then they were on him again. He must have known Lyla well. 'Maybe she teaches him', he considered. It makes sense the way they were looking at each other with such unbridled joy and surprise. They must both be blown away with what he had created. And to think this boy new Lyla, was connected to her, and he'd had no idea when he'd taken a short reprieve from memories of her in Washington Square that day to approach the lad. It was the most extraordinary jam session of his life. This small boy - from Julliard! He guessed August was just as surprised to see him with Lyla too. Louis found himself excited at the prospect of seeing him again.