Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

As soon as you hear the sound of scales on the violin, you jolt awake. You turn your head to look to your right, running a hand on the empty lukewarm sheets. You sigh in realization. Eddy woke up early to practice, supported by the first notes of the Sibelius Violin Concerto hanging in the air. 

You keep an ear out for his playing as you start getting off the bed. You grab your glasses and pull the covers off yourself, your feet immediately finding purchase on the floor. You hesitate a moment, glancing at the bed. You make a split-second decision before exiting the bedroom, a blanket on your shoulders.

You head to the kitchen. Eddy’s been repeating a particular phrase for three times now, you absently note. His frustration bleeds over the abrupt stops he makes before going over it again. You furrow your eyebrows in worry, shuffling over the kitchen counter. There's a still steaming pot of coffee on top of it.

You melt.  

The thought that Eddy made you coffee before even practicing makes you giddy as you reach for a mug and the handle of the pot. The coffee was already prepared to your taste, the added sugar and milk colouring it light brown. You smile, because no one was there to see it, the normally dead-pan face of yours brightening up enough to show your smile lines. 

If anyone were to ask, you’d vehemently deny the quicker-than-normal speed of your gait to the practice room. They also wouldn’t know that it would add to the internal list of denials regarding Eddy Chen. You were careful, though. The mug and the pot of coffee in your hands making you run walk slower than you want to. 

The slightly open door of the practice room greets you alongside the middle part of the first movement. You open it with your foot, refusing to risk the perfectly-made coffee in your hands. Eddy turns to you when he hears the door creak, grinning at what you’re holding. 

“Good morning, Eddy,” You mutter as you beeline for the couch at the side. He responds with a hum. You feel his stare at your back, him still playing. You place the pot and mug at the little table beside the couch and let yourself get comfortable, adjusting the blanket you wear to your front. 

∆|∆

Eddy keeps his eyes on you as he plays. He watches as you pour yourself a cup of coffee (which he took care to tailor to your taste, the smitten man he is ) on a downbow. He sees you almost become one with the couch with how relaxed you appear to be. 

He meets your half-lidded stare right back, chanting “for you, for you, for you” in his mind as he goes through a difficult phrase. And when he sees the small quirk of your lips, he returns it and closes his eyes to focus.

“For you, for you, for you” becomes his single thought.

Chapter Text

You sigh and stretch as much as you can on a chair. You’ve just finished colouring your latest artwork. You look at your palms, eyes tracing the smudges of oil pastel down your arms. It’s one of the most awaited results of you finishing the work: seeing the evidence of a piece done. 

You smile at your work. It’s another one for your best friend, made for purely selfish reasons - though no one needs to know that other than yourself. The sound of a bow skidding across the strings makes you remember you’re not alone in the room.

Brett, your best friend, had walked in after the first hour of you working. He had tuned his violin in a few seconds, then immediately launched into Brahms Violin Concerto. It was difficult, but you managed to half-ignore his playing to continue on colouring. You took breaks periodically when his playing distracts you, observing him practice the passages over and over. The smirk he wore and the confidence he had may have derailed you for longer than you wanted. 

And if anyone were to ask, yes, you were ogling him shamelessly. After all, he was the one you drew (and now colouring). Your gaze went from his closed eyes, his perfect nose, the smug line of his lips, his jaw, and down to his pale throat. From there, you stared at his hands (on the bow or on the fingerboard, doesn’t matter) and the way his body moved while playing. It brought a familiar warmth pooling in your stomach, but also made your artwork of him as life-like as possible.

Hmm, yeah. You were drawing your crush (argument could be made for the love of your life), while he was practicing in front of you. Your number one weakness, obviously. Not one of your wisest choices, but with Brett, your critical thinking normally goes out the window.

“Eddy?”

You snap your gaze from where you’ve been day-dreaming to Brett; your ears suddenly noticing the lack of sound. Brett had placed his violin and bow down, instead now holding a glass of water. He downs the whole glass before turning back to you. Naturally, you follow his Adam’s apple before catching yourself and looking away.

“You’re done?”

You hum absently, still halfway in dreamland. Also preoccupied with the raging blush your cheeks are presenting. You hear him put down the glass, pick up the violin and bow again. 

“Watch me, then.” he commands, voice rough. You bring back your stare to him, surprised. He meets your eyes, bow poised above the strings, posture perfect. He brings the bow down.

It’s Tzigane and you’re lucky you’re seated or you would’ve done something stupid. Like fall over. Or faint. Your eyes drink in his passion instead, watching him get lost in the music.

That’s when it clicks. It’s no longer a practice session, but a performance.

It’s fast and heavy, making you a little bit dizzy and a lot more breathless than you’d like to be. It makes you think of the sketchpads you’ve collected, all featuring Brett and his violin, the digital artworks of him buried in your laptop, and your latest work right in front of you. 

There’s nothing in there that compares to hearing it live. No matter the details you’ve put, the variety of colours you use, the style in which you draw with, music cannot be translated into pages. Art decorates space but music -

It decorates time.

∆|∆

When Brett finishes the last note, the first thing he notices is you blinking back tears. Satisfaction curls contentedly around him, and he smiles. He’s panting from the exertion, but he remembers to secure the violin and bow back to their case. 

He knows the pride affects his tone as he asks if you liked it. He comes closer to you, seeing you bow your head to hide from him. You cover your face with your hands, shrinking away from Brett as much as you can.

You still curse him loudly, though. It makes him laugh. He leans forward to you, your work desk an obstacle from fully being in front of you. A fond smile tugs his lips upwards; you don’t see it, too busy with your embarrassment. His hands find their way to your hair and you unconsciously relax.

“Thank you, Brett,” you mumble behind your hands. He tracks the blush from your cheeks to your ears when he returns with a sincere “anything for you, Eddy”.