The sight of his old name splashed across the cover makes Kylo Ren cringe. Red, bold letters streak across a photo of him from a few years ago, his hair pulled back in a ponytail that begs to be lopped off. The shame of such a photo, of such books, threatens to light his limbs on fire. A quick scan of Music, First Order shows that the manager has his back turned, so Kylo picks up the stack of his songbooks, cramming them at the back of the bin behind a compilation of Rachmaninoff's preludes before the manager looks up at the jingle of the bell.
At the sound, Kylo buries his head in the shelves, pretending to search for a piece of music. Out of the corner of his eye, he watches a young woman enter the shop. Dressed in a tan uniform with a name tag too far away for Kylo to read, she offers a smile at the manager. His red head bobs up from the front desk at the sight of a potential customer. His shark grin spreads uncomfortably wide across his pinched face, and Kylo grits his teeth in disgust.
He's watched Hux smarm his way through transactions for two years now, upselling young families searching for starter instruments and overcharging old ladies for tuneups. Kylo has to admit, the manager does know his way around pianos. Too bad he's not familiar with the concept of integrity.
The newcomer weaves her way between the pianos laid out at the front of the shop, settling at a sleek grand piano with a green velvet bench and a top propped open. Running a hand along the edge of the case, her fingers hesitate as they reach the keys.
"Excellent choice," the manager purrs, approaching her. "Top of the line, with a new model launching in fall."
"I know," the woman says with a twinge of regret.
"This model is favored by many professionals. The late master pianist Yo Yo Da preferred to play every concert on a Starfighter. He claimed there was no piano more receptive to its players' emotions."
"It's beautiful." Her reverence gives Kylo pause.
"My name is Hux," the manager says, reaching for her. The girl's mouth wrinkles, but she lets him grab her hand and shake it limply. "I'll be happy to assist you."
She shakes her head amiably. "I'm… just looking."
At these words, Kylo watches Hux's demeanor shift from friendly to downright frigid. "Oh." The manager draws the syllable out into a six-second condemnation. "Just looking. Well, try to keep your grease off the keys. I don't want to have to polish the piano again before another customer arrives."
The heels of his boots click together as Hux spins from the girl, glowers at Kylo examining the exchange from the corner, and returns to his desk. Kylo glances back at the girl. Her cheeks blossoms red, her jaw tight. Eyebrows knitted tight together, she takes a few steps away from the piano as if to march after Hux.
Then her eyes connect with Kylo, and he's alarmed by the shame spreading across her cheeks. Her shoulders slump, and she drops his gaze, shifting the pack slung over her shoulder. One last wistful peek at the piano, and she begins to trudge towards the door.
Kylo finds his feet carrying himself across the worn carpet to the girl. "You haven't tried the piano."
When she turns to face him, her eyes are hard. "I…"
"How will you know what you want if you don't try it?" His earnestness surprises him. He's not a smiler like her, but he hopes she understands what he's asking her to do.
Her eyes stay steely, the corners of her mouth curve. "Perhaps you're right." She follows him back to the Starfighter, but at his sweeping gesture, refuses to sit. So he pulls back the green velvet bench and slips onto it, his feet finding the pedals like long-lost lovers.
"Allow me." The keys welcome his fingers back by bending under their pressure. An étude he hasn't practiced for kriff knows how long jumps to mind. The strains of Bartók spill from the grand piano's open top and flow throughout the shop.
He notices Hux peering up from his desk, watching the performance with shrewd amusement. Repressing a scowl, Kylo abruptly stops the song mid-measure. He looks from the manager to the girl at his side.
"You play?" she asks.
"Yes." He smashes a few keys, standing as the notes fade into oblivion. "Do you?"
She shakes her head, but lifts a hand to the keyboard. Dirt has burrowed underneath her fingernails and there's a hint of grease streaked across her forearm, but she moves with unexpected grace.
Arching her wrists, she plays the first few notes of a melody that Kylo's sure he's heard somewhere, before stumbling on the wrong key and grimacing at the sound. "Sorry." Her pinkie finger hovers prior to selecting an alternative. The melody resumes, shaky and simple, but altogether hypnotic.
As she slowly navigates her way around the piano, Kylo reads her name tag. "Rey."
Her head bent over the keys, she doesn't look up. "That's me. And you are—?"
"Kylo. Kylo Ren." The name feels easier in his mouth each time he says it, yet he still catches a snort from the desk.
Rey's absentminded nod reminds him that she's galaxies away in thought. Another wrong note, and she huffs impatiently.
"Here." He can't help himself; the note she's hunting for is just out of reach. His index finger taps lightly on the correct key.
She presses her finger in the shadows of his hand. "There it is!" Her exultant grin sings gleefully.
"You know" —he hates the waver in his voice— "I could show a few things if you want." When she doesn't respond immediately, he forges on. "I teach piano."
Another snort from the desk counter reminds Kylo that they have a spectator. But Rey remains oblivious to Hux. Although, when Kylo notes her shoulders tensing at the snort, he wonders if she's simply choosing to ignore him.
"Really? That would be wonderful!" She cocks her head, biting her lip before her face falls. "How much do you charge?"
He eyes her uniform, ragged tennis shoes, and unkempt buns. "It wouldn't be a problem."
It's like dangling a sweet-sand cookie in front of her, the way desire glows from every breath she expels. "I couldn't—"
"It's no trouble."
"I'd love to learn, but if you're teaching, I'm paying."
"Fine." Kylo's chest relaxes, and he fights to keep his face straight. "When do you want to start? I'm free tonight."
"Let me check my schedule." Her smile falls as she pulls her phone from the side pocket of her satchel. "I-I gotta go! I'm gonna be late for work."
Before she can leave, Kylo swipes her phone from her grasp, punching in his number. "Call me."
The door to Music, First Order swings closed as she walks away. Kylo returns to the sheet music bins, and Hux is left choking on his disdain.
She doesn't call him until the third day after they've met, and until his phone rings, Kylo is an irritable wreck. Replaying their encounter over and over, he curses himself for not asking for her number. For all he knows, she'll never contact him. She seemed hesitant enough even after agreeing to lessons.
And what does Kylo care? He's busy teaching lessons, doesn't need to add another student to his roster. But those brown eyes—those wistful fingers—won't leave his mind.
His Thursday students arrive, then his Friday students. Then it's Saturday and he's left alone at his piano. His nails bitten ragged, his hair an over-combed mess, he can barely force himself to play. When he does sit down to try, his fingers move dully through the motions. They're somewhere else, thinking of another pair of hands speckled in grease. He finds himself dusting off his metronome and pulling out old primers, relics from a time far, far away. Inside the old books, Kylo takes a Sharpie to each inscription until there's nothing left but a thick black smudge where his old name used to be.
The chirp draws him from his reverie; he bolts to the kitchen to answer his phone, upending the piano bench in his wake. A tentative hello greets him, and the sting from his nail beds subsides.
He suggests they meet that day. "I'm working late tonight," she explains, countering with an offer for Sunday afternoon. After hanging up the phone, the music flows easy through Kylo's arms.
