Author: Sphynx
Title: A Light in the Darkness 6/?
Pairings: 3+4 (mwahahaha…It's almost here…FINALLY)
Warnings: Angst, mental ward
Disclaimers: *takes a deep breath* They aren't mine, these loverly boys. Yep…Now I'm going to go resign myself to that fact. *goes off and cries quietly for a moment or two*
Notes: I didn't know it would be this long…
Trowa unpacked quickly. There wasn't much to unpack, really, just clothing and a few books. And his flute. It traveled with him most places he went. When he played he could escape the world, if only a few minutes. He could travel to a place beyond the pain, beyond the suffering. To a place of splashing waterfalls and cool grass. His own escape. He lovingly opened the latches on the case, and ran his hands softly along the length of the shining instrument before picking it up and setting it to his lips. He played a soft minuet, one of Bach's. Soft and bright, full of hope. He slid easily into other pieces, the music calming him, taking him to his safe place.
Trowa was so far gone in his music that he never noticed Quatre standing quietly in the doorway with a wistful smile on his face. It wasn't till Trowa stopped to wet his lips that he looked up and saw Quatre leaning back into the door, his eyes closed and mouth curled into a small delighted smile. Quatre's eyes opened lazily, wanting to know why Trowa had stopped. Trowa felt his lips curl up at the corners as he lowered his lips to the flute again, this time playing a phrase from Beethoven's ninth symphony (1). It was the chorus, full of joy and life.
Quatre couldn't help the small contented sigh that passed his lips after the last note died out. Trowa had shared a priceless gift, a small piece of his soul for Quatre to keep and cherish, by playing that piece. He had shared his joy with life, something that Quatre had helped him find again.
"Thank you Trowa, thank you." Quatre smiled softly as Trowa continued to play various pieces. A bit of Mozart, Copeland, Vivaldi, and more that Quatre didn't recognize. Most of the music was full of hope and longing, joy and fulfillment. He placed his emotions into, fitting his soul into the depths of the woven notes. Then he played a short reprise of Beethoven, letting the triumphant notes dance around the room. And when Trowa finally put down the flute, Quatre was crying, the emotion expressed almost overwhelming his senses. It was a perfect moment, the music still echoing through the room as Trowa strode softly over to the door where Quatre was still standing and took him into his arms, letting Quatre bury his head in his shoulder.
"Perfect," Quatre whispered softly as tears ran down his face. "Perfect."
~~~~
(1) Beethoven's Ninth, "Ode To Joy" was the last symphony Beethoven wrote, and the only truly joyful symphony (and my favorite).
Title: A Light in the Darkness 6/?
Pairings: 3+4 (mwahahaha…It's almost here…FINALLY)
Warnings: Angst, mental ward
Disclaimers: *takes a deep breath* They aren't mine, these loverly boys. Yep…Now I'm going to go resign myself to that fact. *goes off and cries quietly for a moment or two*
Notes: I didn't know it would be this long…
Trowa unpacked quickly. There wasn't much to unpack, really, just clothing and a few books. And his flute. It traveled with him most places he went. When he played he could escape the world, if only a few minutes. He could travel to a place beyond the pain, beyond the suffering. To a place of splashing waterfalls and cool grass. His own escape. He lovingly opened the latches on the case, and ran his hands softly along the length of the shining instrument before picking it up and setting it to his lips. He played a soft minuet, one of Bach's. Soft and bright, full of hope. He slid easily into other pieces, the music calming him, taking him to his safe place.
Trowa was so far gone in his music that he never noticed Quatre standing quietly in the doorway with a wistful smile on his face. It wasn't till Trowa stopped to wet his lips that he looked up and saw Quatre leaning back into the door, his eyes closed and mouth curled into a small delighted smile. Quatre's eyes opened lazily, wanting to know why Trowa had stopped. Trowa felt his lips curl up at the corners as he lowered his lips to the flute again, this time playing a phrase from Beethoven's ninth symphony (1). It was the chorus, full of joy and life.
Quatre couldn't help the small contented sigh that passed his lips after the last note died out. Trowa had shared a priceless gift, a small piece of his soul for Quatre to keep and cherish, by playing that piece. He had shared his joy with life, something that Quatre had helped him find again.
"Thank you Trowa, thank you." Quatre smiled softly as Trowa continued to play various pieces. A bit of Mozart, Copeland, Vivaldi, and more that Quatre didn't recognize. Most of the music was full of hope and longing, joy and fulfillment. He placed his emotions into, fitting his soul into the depths of the woven notes. Then he played a short reprise of Beethoven, letting the triumphant notes dance around the room. And when Trowa finally put down the flute, Quatre was crying, the emotion expressed almost overwhelming his senses. It was a perfect moment, the music still echoing through the room as Trowa strode softly over to the door where Quatre was still standing and took him into his arms, letting Quatre bury his head in his shoulder.
"Perfect," Quatre whispered softly as tears ran down his face. "Perfect."
~~~~
(1) Beethoven's Ninth, "Ode To Joy" was the last symphony Beethoven wrote, and the only truly joyful symphony (and my favorite).