A/N: I'd say this chapter marks the beginning of the last part of this novel, for reasons you will understand very soon. Not to say the novel is anywhere near done (nope, a lot of stuff has to happen and some lessons have to be learned yet), but thematically, I'd divide the whole book into three parts (or acts, if you want to be operatic): Act 1 is Death or Erik and Alina trying to find themselves while breaking free of the restraints of their past (chapters 1-10), Act 2 is Haunting or them realizing past is very much coming back to haunt them (chapters 11 to... let's say 30ish), and Act 3 is... well I'll call it Unison and y'all will just have to figure out what it means on the way, but let's say the only way forward is to turn back and face your demons.
(for those who like Tarot the alternative titles would be Death, Devil, and Judgment respectively. the theme of the whole book would be Lovers.)
"You'll be pleased to hear that Beatrice has agreed to audition for your project", Heidel said to Erik with a satisfied half-smile the next time he came to his office. Heidel was enjoying this project a lot more than he would openly admit - he had sent notice to his colleagues to recommend him students and recent graduates that would be interested, and the list of names that was slowly being gathered brought joy to Heidel's heart. He was aware that some students, due to circumstances out of their control, were sometimes forced to abandon their musical career before they've had a chance to succeed- he'd seen it plenty of times in his life. He was toying with the prospect of using Erik's obvious weakness for underprivileged young people to correct some ancient injustices he'd witnessed - but had no intention of saying that so explicitly to him yet. "And, there's one more thing."
"Yes?" Erik replied politely.
"I'm aware we'd agreed I'd let you pick the soloists, and I still stand by it", Heidel said with a mask of nonchalance as he cleaned his glasses with the sleeve of his beautiful jacket. "But, I have a request. I'd like you to take someone into consideration for the piano solo - an old student of mine, who has fallen on hard times."
"Oh", Erik managed as alarms set off in his head. He didn't like this at all - he wasn't used to compromising; he'd compromised more lately than ever before in his life, and he was secretly terrified of having even this small portion of the project that was under his direct control taken away from him.
"Now, I'm aware this is a lot I'm asking for", Heidel put his reading glasses back on his head. "The man we're asking for - requires some special treatment. His skills and theoretical knowledge, as well as creative expression, are incredible - however, he can't learn on his own. He can't read musical notation, so he would require tutoring. Seeing as I've read your piano score, it seems to me you would be more than capable of teaching him his part - but I'm aware that it's a huge time investment, so I'm only asking that you consider it for now."
"He- can't read musical notation?" Erik stopped dead in his tracks. "I thought he was one of your students? In the Conservatory?"
"No. He graduated about ten years ago, when this Conservatory was just getting started. He was my student, but back in the old Academy", Heidel said calmly. "He was supposed to become a pianist for the Philharmonic. Due to unforeseen circumstances, he never got in, and began a solo career. He's working as the lobby pianist at the Waldorf hotel now, but I assume he's allowed to have side projects of his own."
"How did he even get to academy level without being able to read music or learn it on his own?" Erik blurted out. "Didn't he have to pass the same entry exams as everyone else? The Academy does have them, doesn't it?" does the Academy really slide its standards so low for people it deems favourable? How is this fair? How is Heidel alright with this? What is going on-
"He did pass them", Heidel said, smiling a slightly ominous smile. "With flying colors. For a short while, he was the best in his class."
"And now he plays background music in the lobby of some stuck-up hotel?" Erik rambled before he could stop himself. "What on Earth happened there? Did you have no other potential candidates for the piano department that year? Do his parents own the Academy building? It's that, isn't it? What happened to taking Conservatory students and people who never had a chance before but would die to get one?"
Heidel looked at Erik with that same look that generations of former students still saw in their nightmares, and it would have chilled the blood in Erik's veins if he had any sort of common sense. Which he didn't.
"Young man, I have extended a certain courtesy and suspension of disbelief when I decided to give you this chance. If you wish for us to remain cooperative, you will extend the same courtesy and benefit of the doubt to your fellow colleagues before you find it appropriate to judge them. Otherwise you are very welcome to find your luck without me - the door is over there."
Erik sat in his seat, fuming silently. "And this- " giving a solo part to some entitled Academy dropout who needs a tutor for everything- "is simply a sacrifice I must make, I assume. Very well."
"You've misunderstood me", Heidel said calmly. "One, I don't insist that we take Oliver as our soloist - you are simply to give him a chance to audition, and I'm willing to give you my word that once you meet him you'll understand why he's valuable to have even despite his shortcomings."
Erik paused, remembering himself. "Alright, that is fair. I can give you my word. He will get an honest chance to prove himself."
"Two", Heidel added, "while things will be much clearer to you very soon, in the meantime I'd like you to keep your judgments of my former student's competence to yourself. You wouldn't want to say something you'll regret later."
"Alright", Erik said unsurely. Everything about this was suspiciously off. He wondered if he was a fool to think he'd have any control over this project once it was actually set in motion.
"I'll send a word to mr. Riley", Heidel said, taking out a piece of paper. "I'll notify you when he's able to come. I expect him to be quite interested. I'll see you in a few days - for now, I'd like to be excused. I still have a lot of work to do."
"I had it under control", Erik growled with obvious offense as he told the story later that day to Alina and Jack. The last time he had anything under control was at least five years ago, maybe never.
"Yes", Jack narrowed his eyes at him as Alina poured him another cup of coffee, wondering if he should maybe ask her to pour him some whiskey in it while she's at it. "You had it barely under control not to piss off Heidel entirely, great job. You're still an ass."
"How?" Erik insisted. "We had an agreement that I'd pick the soloists, and Heidel can pick everyone else if he wants. I agreed to give my salary to soloists instead if needed, if we couldn't afford them. Why would he start pushing his own agenda now, for some old Academy friend, when there are plenty of people in the Conservatory who'd die for this chance and might never get it again?"
"Because", Jack dragged his hands across his face. "I know Olly. It's… not what you think it is. We grew up together - that's how I met Fritz, they became friends when Olly graduated. It's complicated."
"How is it so complicated? He apparently got into the Academy, which was a chance enough - had a seat ready for him at the Philharmonic - and now he's playing at Waldorf. It's not exactly per aspera, you know, it seems to me like his path was laid out to him from the start."
"Oh, for a time it really was", Jack shrugged. "I've known Olly all my life. He was quite full of himself as a kid - it was always obvious how massively talented he was for music, and how great he would be one day. It was a massive loss for the Academy that he left - that being said", he raised his hand when Erik opened his mouth to protest, "I won't be telling you his life story behind his back, as I wouldn't tell yours. You'll have to meet him and see for yourself, and that's it."
The man Heidel pointed at stood in front of the main entrance quite still, a little too still, as if he was wary he might knock something over if he moved too suddenly. He looked quite unremarkable - a messy mop of brown hair under a plain hat, clean-shaven with a grey suit, seemingly in his mid-thirties. He held an elegant cane in his right hand, but something about it seemed slightly off - for one, he wasn't leaning on the cane at all, and it looked a little too beaten-up to be a fashion accessory, as if he bumped it into something hard one too many times.
"Olly, hi", Heidel called him as they approached. The man turned his face to the direction of the sound and as they stopped to face him Erik suddenly understood, he understood Heidel's behavior and why the man was standing so still and careful, waves of shock and shame coursing through him as he looked into the man's eyes that stared emptily a little to his left. His irises were pale, nearly white, grey-blue, and the pupils were an equally pale, murky, clouded grey color.
Blind. The man was blind, and Erik felt like the most ignorant, terrible person in the world.
He stared silently at the man in shock for a little too long. If Antoinette was present, she would probably have nudged his shoulder and called him rude.
"Hello, Maestro", the man - Olly - smiled at Heidel, extending his arm slightly. Heidel took it, and the man turned to Erik's general direction. "And, mister - ?"
"E-Erik", Erik managed, then coughed slightly. "I'm Erik." he was too distraught to remember he did, in fact, have a last name now.
"Nice to meet you, Erik", the man said with a matter-of-fact cheerfulness. "I'm Oliver Riley, as my colleague might've told you, but everyone calls me Olly."
Heidel laughed but didn't comment on the fact someone half his age - his former student - had just called him his colleague. He opened the front door, letting Oliver - who seemed to have no problem orienting himself - through the front lobby and narrow staircase into his office. Erik followed silently behind them, unsure what to do.
"You're a fellow musician, Erik, or so I heard?" Oliver said, not turning to face him as they walked. It was possible, Erik realized, he had trouble pinpointing where he was seeing as Erik had the habit of moving so silently.
"I'd like to think that", he said quietly. Maybe if I walked a little louder, it would help him? I'm not sure I know how to do that without making it obvious.
The man chuckled. "Very modest of you. I'll assume you didn't get a chance to be spoiled by our esteemed and prestigious conservatories."
"No, I only moved here a year and a half ago", Erik admitted. He didn't really want to say any more, so he thought for a second. "Did you?"
"New York Academy of Music", the man said proudly. "Yankee, born and raised. Perhaps it's better that you didn't - it goes to your head, being there, especially if you're good. You start thinking you're king of the world, until life humbles you."
"Oh", Erik replied.
"Where are you from?" Oliver asked again.
"France."
"I wouldn't have guessed! You don't have an accent at all. You must have a real talent for languages."
Erik didn't exactly know how to respond to that or why people kept telling him that, but he had a weak spot for people flattering him. He felt the muscles in his shoulders relax a little bit. Oliver kept chatting - after a few years of working in a hotel lobby, he could lead a conversation with anyone about anything, and had never possessed any real shyness or modesty anyway.
Heidel led them into his office, telling them to sit. Erik waited for the man to sit, trying very hard not to get in his way, then sat opposite of him, with Heidel on his right forming a sort of triangle. Heidel poured them each a small glass of whiskey.
"How's the missus, Olly?" he asked.
"Oh, she's doing well", the man replied, his face lighting up slightly. "I've told you she's been pestering me to get a dog?"
"Yes", Heidel laughed. "Did you finally cave?"
"Oh, yes. Against my better judgement, too. Truth be told, I thought it would be much more of a bother than it is - she mostly takes care of it herself. A German shepherd - yes, I know, wouldn't expect it from her, hah! But she wanted that one specifically. Terribly intelligent animal! It's like having a very friendly wolf at home - but she's been so happy about it, I don't really mind it. I sometimes take it out on walks, and it's already learned how to let me know if I'm about to bump into something. I only wish the damn animal would stop chewing on my slippers, but I guess that's my cross to bear in exchange for domestic peace." He looked over to Erik, wanting to include him. "Do you know what I'm talking about, Erik?"
"No, not exactly", he admitted. Or lied? He wasn't sure.
"Not married yourself, are you?" Oliver took a sip of whiskey.
"No… No, I'm not." Erik coughed, reminding himself a blind man could not see the obvious so he was most definitely not mocking him.
"Ah", Oliver laughed a hearty laugh. "Pardon me, then. I must have bored you with my tales of domestic bliss - I only got married a year ago, so it's still all very fascinating to me."
"Oh", Erik said. Oliver smiled slightly, and the three of them sat in silence for a moment as Erik pondered if it was maybe time for him to leave, and throw myself in a ditch in shame.
"Well, it's nice meeting another musician", Oliver spoke again, "but I was under the impression that Maestro had something specific in mind when he invited us here. Am I wrong?"
Heidel looked over to Erik, raising his eyebrows. It was his project - and he was expected to represent it whether he liked it or not. Heidel had had many students over the years, and he was always adamant that he wouldn't be holding his protege's hand as they made their first real steps into the musical scene. It was true for young men and women struggling with completing their compositions or mastering a particularly difficult piece, and it would be true for this young man who seemingly could write and play music with rarely seen ease and mastery, and yet sometimes couldn't piece together a coherent, regular-length sentence to save his soul.
Erik paused, trying to find the right words. "I… Maestro Heidel told me you were a good pianist."
"That's an understatement", Heidel said proudly. "Olly was the best pianist in his generation, and one of the best students I've had. He's still one of the best you'll find in New York City."
"You're just saying that because you like me", Oliver laughed. "I haven't been top of the game in years. Since I've lost my sight, I've only played what I already knew before. It's not realistic to expect someone will sit with me and teach me - I can't read sheet music, obviously", he shrugged.
"Does that not bore you?" Erik blurted out before he could stop himself. The man raised his eyebrows, then smiled at him with new interest.
"It did, of course", he replied. "Which is why these days I don't play at large concert halls anymore. I'm good at improvising - not much of a composer in the real sense, but I can improvise fairly well on the spot, so I mostly work in fancy galleries, museums, currently at the Waldorf hotel. You know, events like that. They'll let you play anything that sounds good, and they pay good money. Really good money. There's a sort of liberty to it."
"Do they listen?" Erik asked. "The - the people there, do they actually listen to you?"
"They are polite, but they mostly don't understand a damn thing", Olly admitted. "Occasionally, I can tell when someone really feels music the way we do - they are the ones who listen. Sometimes, someone will come to me and tell me they liked it. But it doesn't matter, you know?" he shrugged apologetically.
"How come?" Erik pressed.
"Because I play for myself. I play because it's fun." he waved his hand dismissively. "Music is just a game - I used to think it was a competitive game, where you play all the moves perfectly, better than anyone else, and win. But the older I am, the less I think so. It's just a game for fun, a box full of colorful blocks to be arranged into castles however you like it. It's all I need it to be, frankly. I have no ambition to educate the masses on the virtues and exquisite suffering of Liszt and Rachmaninoff if they don't want to hear about it - I like it better if we all have fun. Mostly me, to be honest."
"Ah", Erik said.
"You don't agree?" Olly laughed.
"I don't know. Maybe I do. Though "fun" would not be the first word I'd use to describe it."
"No? And what is music to you, then?" Olly asked. His carefree, friendly demeanor was really throwing Erik off his track. He had never really encountered someone who treated him this way - people, even well-meaning people, could not simply unsee how strange he looked and moved and acted; he could sense the unease even people like Alina felt around him when they first met him. Even those who were polite, were usually very reserved.
But this man had simply no way of knowing how strange Erik was - he was just another fellow musician to him, nervously struggling to have a polite chat with a blind man without accidentally offending him.
Is this how Alina felt around me when we met? Is that why she acted so strange then? Erik felt enormous strain on his mind from trying to overthink everything he said so it wouldn't accidentally offend the man before him. He suddenly felt the need to go home and hug her very, very tightly.
"I don't know, I, I'm not sure I have words for it", he fumbled. Well, he sure didn't have them now - even if he did like the friendly man before him, even if he tried to tell him something so personal, it would not have come out of him just so easily. If he tried too hard he might just forget every word he ever learned.
"Maybe then I could hear you play sometime. Maestro tells me you're not only a composer, but also a violinist", Olly tapped his fingers on his cane as he spoke. "If you have a concert soon, tell me, I'd like to come."
"Actually, Olly, that's something we wanted to talk to you about", Heidel coughed, re-joining the conversation. He would have much rather let them talk in peace and observe - Erik's confused stumbling was particularly amusing to him after their last talk - but he had a feeling if he didn't bring it up, Erik would never muster the courage. "Erik is, in fact, preparing a performance of his symphony. We're looking for a solo pianist, and I recommended you."
"Oh." Oliver frowned in surprise for the first time. "Really?"
"Really, as I said, you're one of the best students I've ever had."
"Not sure what to think about that", he turned to Erik. "As I said, I can no longer read sheet music. I'd need a tutor to teach me - someone has to play it to me little by little so I can repeat and learn. For a whole symphony, that's a whole lot of work, even though my memory is very good. And let me tell you, you should think beforehand if you're ready to do that. I still think too highly of myself to let myself be someone's burden."
"I understand", Erik said. "I- I do." Oh, you have no idea how much I understand, he wanted to tell him, but something told him it would not be a good idea. Do I?
"And, obviously, you have to find someone who will teach me exactly how it should be played on stage, because I can't see the conductor's signals."
"Yes, obviously", Erik said. "It would have to be me."
"That seems like the logical solution, yes." Olly paused. "It's a lot of work. You should think it over."
"My music is not fun", Erik blurted out. "It's… really not. And neither am I."
Olly leaned back in his chair. "Alright. Perhaps we should hear each other play first, and then we'll decide. Worst case scenario, we'll both learn something new and go on our merry ways."
Erik nodded, then felt his cheeks getting hot when he remembered the man couldn't see it. "Yes. alright."
"But now I'm curious - if it's not fun, what is it then? Avant-garde? Dissonant? Solemn? How would you characterize it? Am I about to hear some of that heavy, high-class art I've been evading for the past years?"
"I, I honestly don't know", Erik said. "I…"
"What?"
"It's just something that's important to me."
Oliver nodded in silence for a second, then stood up. "Maestro, is your piano still where I left it last time?"
Heidel laughed. "Waiting just for you as always."
"I guess this whiskey will be my salary for today. I really am a fool for challenges." Oliver walked over to the door and opened it, pausing at the doorway. "Are you gentlemen not gonna come with me?"
"I have some work to do", Heidel said. "I'm sure Erik can manage this audition on his own."
Erik shrugged at Heidel. He wasn't too sure who was auditioning whom here, but the fewer people were present in the room, the better for him. He followed Oliver down the hallway to the classroom that held Heidel's piano.
"Erik?" Oliver turned as he walked.
"Yes?" Erik asked from right behind him, and the man jumped a little as he turned to him.
"Ah, good, you're still here. I wasn't sure. You're so quiet."
"Sorry. Yes." Erik would normally get properly offended by this man being startled by him, but he was still too distressed by the whole situation. If he can't hear me, he has no way of knowing I'm there. I might as well be a ghost haunting him. He doesn't know. He might never know. Heidel never told him-
"Have you heard American music yet, Erik?" Oliver asked as he opened the door to the classroom.
"Some of it. A little."
"Get ready, then." Oliver opened the lid and cracked his knuckles, sitting down at the piano. Erik followed, wondering if he should bother turning on the light. He had been in this room before and knew its general outlines, not to mention he could see quite well in the near-dark. Closing the door behind him, he decided to see what would happen if he simply left it as it was.
He could play better in the dark, after all.
He sat on one of the chairs behind Oliver and waited. The pianist started with a few scales and etudes to warm up - quite boring, but he played with a sort of enthusiasm and cheer that made them bearable. It went on for a few minutes, then he shifted without warning to a composition Erik knew. It was a short piece by Schubert - sweet and upbeat, and Oliver played it with all the humour of someone playing his favorite game. Erik thought he could hear slight irony, a cheerful and somewhat mocking tone in his playing. This is your precious, high art. I can do this flawlessly, but I don't think very highly of it, to be honest, the old piano sang. Then it changed again.
Erik couldn't pinpoint exactly when it changed, but it slowly started to shift. The melody stayed the same, but the harmonies started shifting, the tempo would slow down and speed up again, until it varied so much it was nothing like the mould it grew from. Then he heard bits and pieces of other works - some famous, some so incredibly obscure he couldn't properly remember what they were exactly; and that was only the beginning. The style changed as well; going from the classical German piece it originally was to something much more modern, loud, fast and full of life. Erik had heard street musicians in New York; he knew what modern music sounded like - but this was unlike any of that, something new and existing of its own. The hustle of the New World, enthusiasm and ambition, giant skyscrapers and wide avenues, hordes of people all talking loudly, perched defiantly on a skeleton of posh, stuck-up, old-fashioned forms and schemes. Classical music, interpreted by someone who loved it so much he could criticize and poke fun at it without hesitation, someone who knew it so well he could make something of his own and still keep in it a reference to his roots. Defiant, challenging, bright happiness that laughed in the face of the darkness and misery of the world - clinking, clanging, ever-changing. You cannot catch me, it seemed to tell Erik. I become whatever I wish to be. I am free. There's darkness all around me, yet here I am, laughing at its face.
It was the furthest thing he could imagine from his own work, and he fell in love with it immediately.
Oliver finished with a smooth and bold glissando, then rested his hands on his lap and chuckled.
"This is what I sound like, most of the time. Not quite hochmusik, but it makes money."
"Beautiful", Erik managed. "Incredible. I've never heard someone willingly butcher and deconstruct everything I hold dear, then put it back together again in such a mesmerizing collage. How the hell did you do that?"
"I just don't take myself seriously, I suppose?"
"Do you take anything seriously?"
"A few things, but not Schubert." Oliver laughed. "Alright, then, will you show me what you actually expect from your pianist to perform?"
"Right." Erik stood up so they could switch places. "To be honest, I only recently started practicing again on a harpsichord so I might be a little rusty. And I'm still changing some things, so I'll play you some parts that might interest you."
"Alright", Oliver Riley said, all of his previous laughter and cheer gone. "Alright, I understand what you meant. This is not fun music."
Erik lowered his hands, staring at the barely-visible piano keyboard. "No." he didn't know what to make of that. If the man didn't like it, he could just say so, and Erik would much prefer if he said it quickly and openly.
"It's also very complex. Might be quite difficult to learn."
"Yes."
"But it's important to you." Oliver tapped his fingers on his cane. "It feels very personal. I think you might have just told me your whole life. Are you sure you want this performed on stage?"
"I…" Erik trailed off. "I'm not always certain it should be performed on stage or that anyone should hear it, but I'm certain I want it, yes."
"Well", Oliver took a slow breath. "I'm not easily surprised, and I think I've had a fairly broad and deep education when it comes to music. But I gotta admit I'm slightly taken aback by this. This has to be one of the most beautiful things I've ever heard. No, it's not fun, because fun is fleeting and lighthearted. This is - heavyhearted, hah. And it's important. It's definitely not boring."
Erik swallowed. "I- thank you."
"I'll play it."
"Oh." Erik blinked. "Oh. Really?"
"Yes."
"How come? Considering everything?"
"Because I understand it", Oliver nodded. "I understand it, and I can do it right. And I should be the one to do it."
"And you won't butcher it like Schubert?" Erik smiled. "Or will you just start playing something of your own in the middle of the opening night?"
"I knew most of Schubert by heart before I started butchering him", Oliver laughed, clicking his cane against his shoe. "Do you think I could make it so much fun if I didn't love him so much?"
"Do you wanna walk with me?" Oliver turned to Erik slowly as they said goodbye, left Heidel's office and walked out into the busy street. "If you happen to be going the same way."
"Huh?" Erik turned back to him.
"Yeah, I'd just like to chat, get to know each other before we get to business. Granted, I'll need a little bit of help when we cross the street, but don't feel obligated if you're in a hurry."
"Alright", Erik said, a bit confused. "Where do you need to go?"
"My apartment is two blocks from here. I'll navigate you."
"Do you know the way by heart?" Erik asked curiously.
"Don't you know the way from your home to your favorite places by heart?" Oliver laughed. "I bet you do, you just don't know it."
"Maybe", Erik conceded. He walked carefully next to Olly, whose cane made a click-click-click sound against the pavement.
"How're you liking the Big Apple?" Oliver asked cheerfully.
"What?"
"The Big Apple, New York. That's what they call it. You didn't know? Guess if you're a foreigner you probably didn't."
"Uh, I didn't. It's fine", Erik said. "Noisy."
"Noisy is definitely true", Oliver laughed. "Just noisy? Nothing else?"
"The skyscrapers are unnerving to me. Everything here is too big in general. But…" he paused. "It seems a lot less stiff than where I'm from. People say things more openly, and that's easier. And my, that is, Alina is very loud and talkative as well, so she's fitting right in."
"It's very nice to see her happy, isn't it?"
"It is."
They reached the crossing, and for a moment Erik thought the man wouldn't stop - he reached out without thinking and grabbed his sleeve gently.
"Stop", he said quietly.
"Yes, I know." Oliver turned to him, raising his eyebrow. "I can hear just fine. Just tell me if something very fast tries to pass me before I can react."
"Sorry."
"I'm not offended." he went silent as they crossed to better hear the traffic and continued talking when they were safe on the sidewalk again. "I would've been fine on my own. I can always ask anybody who's around for help."
"Do they help you?" Erik asked, surprised with the genuine concern in his voice - Oliver must have noticed it as well, as he smiled slightly.
"Yes, yes. Anyway, I just wanted to talk to you a little bit", he said, "about the job. The symphony, that is. You only played a small part of it today."
"Yes."
"It's not all like that, is it?"
"No."
"That's what I thought. It has a certain something to it. It's about despair, isn't it? I can recognize it. A lot of despair and loneliness. Trapped in a black world, with no escape, no hope of ever seeing the light again." The man spoke in a casual tone, like he was a doctor describing death he knew so well it stopped frightening him long ago.
Erik shifted. "That is... Yes. Correct."
"I can recognize it when I hear it by now. And I can also guess how it ends, or at least I think I can, but I want to ask you. Is that alright?"
"How do you think it ends?" Erik turned to him with curiosity.
"It sounds to me like there's a voice going through it, insisting that the darkness isn't as absolute as it seems. I can tell some parts of it were added or changed later. Like the person who wrote it, doesn't fully believe in it anymore. The parts you wrote later don't have the same conviction. Am I right in guessing that love wins in the end?"
"It's just an instrumental composition", Erik fumbled. "Maybe it isn't that elaborate. Maybe I just changed some things because I thought it sounded better that way."
"Don't play dumb with me. You know exactly what I'm talking about. Does love win in the end or not?"
"Yes. It does", Erik whispered. "I haven't finished it yet, but yes, it does."
"Ah. Good. I wouldn't have agreed to it otherwise." Oliver stopped. "This is my building."
"Alright, I'll see you at practice then", Erik said, realizing he was still holding the man's sleeve and releasing him quickly. "Oh. I'm sorry. I didn't want anyone to hurt y- sorry, I mean, I was just trying to help." Between saying one-word sentences and saying full, but idiotic sentences, which one embarasses me more?
"Yes, I know. You're an alright fellow. I'm glad the darkness didn't swallow you." Oliver nodded at him and took out his keys. "I wouldn't have agreed otherwise. Life has too many stories about despair, and it's getting boring already. I can play your sad symphony, but I wanted a happy ending. Maybe that makes my taste juvenile - I don't care. I like that you changed it. I personally think it makes more sense this way." he opened the door and waved in Erik's general direction. "Have a nice day."
"You too", Erik replied. After the man disappeared behind the heavy door, he softly added, "It's not juvenile at all."
As Erik walked back home, hot shame washing over him again, he tried to make sense of what happened.
I'm a bastard.
Well, he didn't know the man was blind, and honestly, how could he have guessed? He may have jumped into the conclusion Oliver Riley was just another rich boy who finished the Academy on his daddy's money and never properly learned music, but why had it never occurred to him there might have been a different side to the story?
Because I assumed everyone else is normal and I'm the only one unnatural.
Why would Jack not prepare him for this?
Didn't I ask Jack and Heidel not to tell people about me? Didn't I specifically tell Jack I didn't want this to be the first thing people learn about me? Would it be that much of a stretch to assume Oliver feels the same?
Erik looked at his hand once again, remembering how it held on to the pianist's sleeve. Stupid, stupid, stupid. Condescending. Even blind, he knows his way around New York better than I do. If someone acted this way toward me, I'd have told them off long ago. Instead, he just tells me I'm an alright fellow and agrees to play my music.
But I didn't feel sorry for him. I just wanted him to be safe.
And another, much more warm and beautiful thought invaded, because he's wonderful.
Erik normally hated people touching him - with very few, obvious exceptions - and he never touched them first, especially strangers, if he could avoid it. He could always see the wall between him and them - unspoken truth that he was hideous, abnormal, or simply strange and unpredictable, and so he never really bothered to tear that wall down anymore. He always thought other people getting too close was downright dangerous to him a lot more than it was to them.
Oliver Riley has no way of knowing any of that about me. He just talked to him like any other man - no, a fellow musician, to make things even better. He just assumed Erik was a musician who came from a distant land and underprivileged schooling, but an equal nevertheless.
And Erik, petrified by sadness at the thought of a man who could no longer do what he loved most because he couldn't read the notes, apparently threw all reason out the window and attempted to do what some small, deep, childish part of him felt the need to do: protect the kind, blind man from an uncaring world.
He entered his house to find Alina already back home, along with, unsurprisingly, Jack who had come to wait for Amelija.
"You should have told me he can't see", he frowned at Jack.
"So he is blind?" Alina asked. "I assumed it might be something like that."
"Did you embarrass yourself?" Jack asked with the sweet, angelic grin he usually saved for when Erik made an absolute ass of himself.
"I think so. I was just trying to help."
"Eh, then it's probably fine. Olly looks all sweet, but if you'd offended him he'd have definitely told you to piss off."
Back at his house, Olly put his cane back and shrugged off the jacket of his suit.
"Camila, darling, I'm home", he called, making his way toward the kitchen. The dog, Poppy, walked over to him slowly, nudging his hand to pet her on the head.
"What's new with Heidel?" Camila came from the kitchen, kissing her husband's cheek.
"Well, they offered me a job. Some poor guy wants to assemble a small orchestra to play his symphony, but he's completely unknown and has no connections, and he desperately needs soloists. So desperately, that he's willing to teach me the symphony little by little so I can perform." Oliver laughed, and his wife pinched him.
"No, he wants you because you're the best. Shut up."
"I am, aren't I? But I'm better when I'm improvising. Still, it will be nice to play some new, serious hochmusik for a change." he shook his head. "It's incredible. I'll get you a ticket for the concert, you have to hear it."
"Are you okay with learning like that? If the guy's a prick, you can always quit", Camila said. She'd always had a very no-nonsense attitude; trouble, in her opinion, was much better prevented than dealt with after it had a chance to grow.
"Camila, you should've met the guy. At first I thought he was kind of stuck up - barely talked, terrible manners. But I'm not sure anymore. We walked two blocks together, and he held on to my sleeve like you'd think he'd stop the whole traffic if he could, just so I could pass."
END OF CHAPTER
A/N: can I make Oliver the main character from now on? I'm sorry, I know y'all came here for a POTO fanfic, but I just, gosh, he's just so sweet and I love him, I can't- would y'all mind maybe 30 more chapters about him? Hahah, just kidding. Unless...?
