Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

It all starts with the elderly woman who’d been living in the apartment to the right of Dream’s moving out. 

He can’t say that he’s disappointed- she’d constantly banged on his door and yelled at him to stop practicing his piano, even during times of the day where it would be perfectly reasonable to practice an instrument. He’d mostly ignored her, leaving her to grumble about the “infernal noise” and “all that racket”. 

Well, now she’s gone, and Dream hopes more than anything that his new neighbor will be understanding. He’d quite like to have one decent practice session without someone screaming at him through the walls. It’s not like he’s bad at playing, either- he’s a professional, thank you very much, and he tries his best to keep the noise down. But it would be nice to not have to keep his foot down on the soft pedal all the time- and so he crosses his fingers and prays to whatever deity is up there that his new neighbor will allow him to practice in peace.

Dream doesn’t actually see his new neighbor for the first time until a few days later, as he’s leaving to go teach at a student’s house. He’s locking his front door, his car keys between his teeth, and out of the corner of his eye he spots a tall guy stepping out of the apartment next to his. Dream can’t see much in terms of facial features, but he notices right away that the guy has a dog- a big, fluffy white ball of fur that could be a Great Pyrenees.

They don’t talk. The guy doesn’t even glance Dream’s way before setting off with his dog at his heels, and Dream himself is really too preoccupied with getting under way before he’s late to pay his new neighbor much attention. Still, he makes a mental note of the fact that his new neighbor apparently has a dog.

Late that night, as he’s heating up some pizza for dinner, he glances at his baby grand piano and wonders again if his new neighbor will be lenient with his practicing. He’s half-tempted to test it now, but after a few moments of silent debate, he decides to save it for tomorrow, when he can have an actual, good-length practice session.

He sits down at his small kitchen table with his food and manages to lift a slice of pizza halfway to his mouth when he hears it- the soft but unmistakable sound of violin playing coming from the apartment to the right. Dream freezes in surprise. A piece of pepperoni falls from the pizza and onto his plate, where it lies limply.

Of all things, his new neighbor is a violinist. He listens for a moment, trying to identify the familiar piece. It comes to him quickly- Bruch’s violin concerto, the beginning of the first movement. So the guy must be experienced, then. Dream is no expert on violin playing, but as he listens, his pizza now forgotten, he can tell that his neighbor is good- beautiful phrasing, expert vibrato, and a raw sort of emotion that not every musician, violinist or otherwise, manages to convey in their playing.

It’s eight PM and Dream had been starving before, but now he finds himself clinging onto every muted note as they flow through the thin walls. It takes him a few moments to remember that he’s still holding the pizza slice, which is steadily drooping more and more in his hand. He quickly sets it down, his hunger forgotten as he listens to his neighbor play.

In the solitude of his darkening apartment, the curtains drawn and only the dim kitchen light on, Dream listens, enraptured, like he’s at a professional orchestra performance instead of sitting at his kitchen table with his neighbor playing next door. His fingers dance across the table, tapping along to the melody on imaginary piano keys. The notes drift like autumn leaves, soaring with every crescendo, and Dream chases after them, trying to grab hold, only for them to slip from his fingers.

His neighbor continues to play until almost one AM.

Dream doesn’t get any sleep that night.

---

It continues like that.

His neighbor’s practice times are seemingly random. Sometimes the playing will start in the morning, or after lunch, or close to midnight. Sometimes Dream will wake up at three AM and wander into the kitchen for a glass of water, and he’ll hear the very faint sound of Brahms or Bruch coming from next door. On nights where he’s extremely tired, he’ll listen for a few moments, then go back to bed. Most nights when that happens, though, he’ll press his ear against the wall and almost be able to feel the music flowing around him like a gentle river.

Exhaustion starts to set in during the day due to lack of sleep, but Dream doesn’t care. His neighbor’s playing isn’t necessarily the technical best he’s ever heard, but there’s a passion to it that sometimes leaves him sitting on the couch in the very early hours of the morning, staring at the empty wall and wishing it could just vanish so he can hear the music better. 

He can’t explain why, exactly, his neighbor’s playing captivates him so much- it just does. He’s not sure if his neighbor feels the same way about his playing, but so far no noise complaint has been filed, so maybe the enjoyment goes both ways. Either that, or his neighbor is just putting up with his practice out of mutual respect. Whatever the reason, though, Dream is just glad to be able to practice normally without someone banging on his door and shouting at him to shut up.

In the end, though, it’s still his playing that lands him in his first conversation with his new neighbor.

---

The notes shatter the air, each one like a raindrop bursting against the ground. His fingers glide across the keys, not hitting them but caressing them, coaxing the purest sound out. The music dips and rises, quiets and crescendoes, and he sways along with it, chasing the melody like a storm chaser would run after a hurricane until-

Knock, knock .

Dream jumps, startled. He glances at the clock, and sh*t, he’d overpracticed again. His fingers are sore as he flexes them, and his wrists hurt too. God, he really needs to stop practicing for so long in one sitting, doesn’t he?

The knocking on his front door comes again, more persistent this time. Dream’s mind immediately jumps to the conclusion that this is his new neighbor, come to complain about the noise at last. Just when he thought he was safe.

Sighing, he gets up and flings the front door open. “Yes?” he says, maybe a little more sharply than he meant to.

“Uh, hallo,” the guy in his doorway replies uncertainly, and it is the new neighbor. Only a violinist or a player would have a hickey like that on their neck. Dream blinks as he takes in his new neighbor for the first time, and- wow, okay, this guy is hot. The sharp nose, the aristocratic features, the broad shoulders and well-defined muscles- even the waist-length pink hair and rectangular glasses don’t ruin the image. If anything, they only accentuates the guy’s killer jawline and sharp nose.

He’s tall, too, 6’3 at the very least, and Dream suddenly feels small. Nevertheless, he straightens his back and does his best to look the guy in his striking ruby-red eyes. “Is this about the piano playing?”

“Yes. Well, no, but also yes, but-” the guy pauses in his stuttering, takes a deep breath, and Dream can’t help but feel amused- and maybe also a little charmed.

“I’m just goin’ to start over,” the guy says awkwardly. His voice is unfairly deep and attractive; Dream notices that he’d clipped the -g sound at the end of ‘going’. “Yes, it’s about the piano playin’, but not in the way you think. I’m not filin’ a noise complaint or anythin’.”

Well, that’s a surprise- and a relief. Dream stares at his neighbor for a moment, trying to compute. If this guy is here to talk to him about his piano playing but doesn’t want to complain about the noise, then what could he possibly want?

“Okay, then…” Dream says slowly. He takes a step back, opening up the entrance to his apartment a little. “Do you want to come in?”

“Oh, uh, sure.” The guy steps inside like he’s walking into a minefield, which is strangely endearing. His eyes flick to the piano first, then the cat tree in the corner, and he says, “You have a cat.”

It’s an objective statement, not funny in the slightest, but Dream can’t help but laugh. “I do have a cat, yes. And you have a dog.”

The guy squints. “How do you know I have a dog?”

Dream thinks for a moment, then replies, “I work for the IRS. I know everything about you, including the fact that you didn’t pay your taxes last month.”

“Oh, no,” the guy deadpans, his lips quirking up in a smile. “They’re comin’ for me.”

Dream makes finger guns. The guy laughs, a sound that seems to rumble in his chest the way some pianos resonate when played, and suddenly he seems more… warm. Like someone Dream would want to get to know better, and not just the hot guy who lives next door.

Impulsiveness gets the better of him, and he sticks out his hand. “I’m Dream.”

His neighbor considers him for a fraction of a second, just long enough for him to worry that he’d been too forward, before smiling slightly and shaking his hand. “Techno. Are you professionally trained?”

Dream knows instantly that Techno is talking about the piano. “I’m a concert pianist, yeah.”

Techno nods. “Classical, I assume?”

“Yeah. I play with orchestras a bunch, and I teach a few students.”

“Do you accompany people?”

Now Dream can see where this is going. “Not usually, but I’m willing to try. Do you need an accompanist for something?”

“I- yeah.” Techno shifts a bit, looking awkward. “It’s kinda lot to explain.”

“Here, we can sit down.” Dream gestures for Techno to follow him into the small kitchen. As he moves to grab two glasses of water, he wonders briefly what the heck he’s doing- inviting someone he doesn’t even know into his apartment when no one else outside of than his students has come in for years. It’s like the beginning of some sort of cheesy romcom, except instead of a blushing girl and a macho guy, it’s a pianist and a violinist fumbling their way through a conversation.

Which reminds Dream of a question he should probably ask. “You’re a professional too, right?”

Techno raises his eyebrows. “No, I just made my fingers bleed tryin’ to play Sibelius a few days ago for fun.”

Dream laughs, feeling a strange fluttery feeling in his stomach. “Fair enough. Are you with the San Fran Symphony?”

Techno straightens a little, pride emanating from the line of his shoulders. “Concertmaster.”

“Don’t get a big head about it,” Dream teases, and the words flow from his mouth naturally, as if he’s known Techno for years and not just five minutes. “The violas are obviously the most important members of the orchestra.”

“Hah!” Techno laughs again, and Dream wonders if he’s imagining the sudden rise in temperature. Maybe the air conditioning broke again. “No, you’re right. It’s the violists that really matter. They carry the whole thing, man.”

“You’re such an idiot,” Dream says with an eye roll. He immediately wants to slap himself, because that was a really weird thing to say to someone he’d just met as if they’ve known each other for years and years, especially with that tone of voice, but Techno doesn’t seem to notice or care. He just smirks.

“I think you’re just jealous that I’m a soloist and you’re an accompanist.”

“Excuse you.” Dream straightens in his chair and glares, though he makes sure to keep his tone light so that Techno knows he’s just teasing. “I’ve soloed plenty of times. What do you think I’m practicing the Tchaikovsky for?”

“Woah, wait.” Techno squints at him. “You’re not… like, a world-class pianist, are you?”

“Oh!” Dream laughs, startled. “No, definitely not. I just do smaller performances from time to time. You’re sort of right, though. Mostly I get called in to accompany orchestral performances. I’ve never seen you, though.”

“I just auditioned and got in a few weeks ago, so that’s probably why,” Techno explains- casually, like Dream can get any more impressed. Honestly, he’s surprised that Techno isn’t a world-class soloist, what with his amazing technique and the fact that he auditioned and got concertmaster like it was nothing.

“You’re really good,” Dream says, cautiously but honestly. “I mean, I’m no violin player, but even I can tell that you’ve got great technique.”

Techno blinks, then flashes a smile- this one softer and more genuine than his previous smirks. “Thanks. You’re pretty good too. Can you do Liszt?”

“Under pressure? No. At 3 AM while tired out of my mind? Yeah.”

“Oof. Relatable. That’s me with Paganini. I can play it fine on my own, but as soon as I step into the concert hall or someone starts recordin’, my fingers are like, ‘adios!’”

Dream laughs, and it hits him then how strangely comfortable he feels with Techno. He should not be this at ease with someone he just met, but here he is, sitting with his new neighbor in his kitchen and laughing over a dumb joke. It’s been at least ten minutes, and they haven’t even begun to talk about whatever Techno had knocked on Dream’s door for- instead, they’re conversing like old friends.

That warm, fluttery feeling in Dream’s stomach- is that contentment, or something else entirely? He doesn’t know, but he sure as hell doesn’t think he’s imagining the connection he’s feeling to Techno. He meets Techno’s eyes, red like crimson roses, and it feels strangely… familiar. Like they really have known each other for years and years.

Dream wonders, faintly, if he’s going crazy. Then he thinks that if he is going crazy, then this is a nice reward. He smiles at Techno before he can stop himself, and Techno’s lips twitch in response. The violinist raises an eyebrow. “You good? You look like the Cheshire Cat.”

“Shut up, no I don’t,” Dream protests, and Techno laughs. The warmth returns again, rushing over him the same way well-played Tchaikovsky or Chopin does. He feels suddenly light, lighter than he has in months, and it’s all because of Techno, sitting across from him and laughing his ass off at Dream’s indignancy.

An hour later they’re still talking, both of them having complained about the struggles of their respective instruments and bonded over the shared pain of orchestra rehearsals, and only after Dream mentions that he’d been practicing before Techno came does Techno glance up at the clock and swear. “Sh*t, I should probably go. I need to practice.”

“Don’t you usually do that at, like, one AM?” Dream points out.

Techno laughs. “Fair. But hey- if you have reasonable practice hours, are you really a musician?”

“Well, I practice at reasonable hours. I think it’s more of, ‘if you have a healthy lifestyle, are you really a musician?’”

“Bruh, you cook your own meals. I think your lifestyle is plenty healthy.”

“You say that now, but you haven’t seen my sleep schedule.”

“Touché.” Techno’s lips twitch again. “Well, in an attempt to not practice at one AM tomorrow, I am goin’ to go home and practice now. It was nice talkin’ to you, though.” His tone shifts from joking to something softer. “Really nice.”

“Yeah,” Dream says, a little breathlessly. Techno’s hair spills down his back like pink silk, his crimson eyes almost mesmerizing, and before he can stop himself Dream blurts out, “Maybe we can do this again some time?”

Techno smiles, actually smiles. It sets Dream’s soul alight like a candle in the dark. “I’d like that.”

Dream smiles back, his stomach fluttering. Techno starts for the door; he has one foot outside before he pauses and turns back around. “By the way, I completely forgot to ask you, but would you be willin’ to accompany me for a live concert?”

“Um, I’ll have to check my schedule, but I can, then sure,” Dream replies. “What piece?”

“The Butterfly Lovers concerto.”

“Ooh.” Pretty and, with some practice, very much doable on Dream’s part. “When’s the performance?”

"In December.”

“Okay,” Dream says slowly, running through his mental calander. “That might work. Can you send me sheet music?”

“Sure.” They exchange numbers; Techno sends Dream a link for the sheet music before leaving to practice, and Dream dashes back inside his apartment to print the music out.

A half hour later, as he’s reading an article on his phone, he hears the familiar sound of Techno tuning. He stops reading and listens, listens as Techno begins to play- a high, lilting piece that Dream recognizes almost immediately. It’s the same piece they’d been discussing just minutes earlier.

Suddenly giddy with excitement, he almost trips over himself as he leaps to his feet and grabs the music he’d printed. He props all the sheets up haphazardly on his piano and sits down, fingers scrambling to position themselves on the keys. He waits for a pause in the music, and when Techno comes in again, so does he.

There’s a sudden gliss in Techno’s playing, and Dream grins to himself as he imagines his neighbor’s fingers fumbling with surprise. But Techno recovers quickly and continues to play, and Dream matches him in tempo. He’s sightreading, almost missing a few notes, but he doesn’t care.

They play together in perfect unison, and suddenly the wall between them seems as thin as air. They can’t see each other, which really should be a problem, but right now it doesn’t matter. Dream can feel the music rushing over him, can imagine his playing and Techno’s weaving together like two butterflies in the wind. They fill the spaces between one other’s notes, and even though it’s technically a violin concerto with piano accompaniment, it doesn’t feel like either of them are in the spotlight. It feels equal- a perfect blend of high, clear violin playing and the soft tapping of piano keys.

Dream doesn’t know how long they play together, but when the final note rings out, there’s a moment of absolute silence, like a concert hall right as the conductor lifts his baton. And then, from a floor below, Dream hears faint clapping, as if the whole building had been listening to him and Techno play.

He lifts his fingers from the piano, feeling as flushed and exhilarated as he would after an actual performance. His phone dings, and he checks it to see a message from Techno, a message containing one simple word: again?

A smile stretches across Dream’s face. In his chest, his heart does a weird little skipping motion, but he doesn’t pay it much attention. The only thing on the front of his mind is playing with Techno again. He eagerly sends back: sure .

Techno starts to play again, and Dream lets his fingers dance over the piano keys once more.

---

Their second meeting is by pure chance, and it happens right outside of Dream’s favorite cafe, two days after their first meeting. He would laugh about how cheesy and cliche it was if not for the fact that he’s too busy being excited about seeing Techno again. 

“Techno!” he calls, quickening his pace. His neighbor looks up, one hand on the door handle. Techno has his violin strapped to his back, his pink hair cascading around the shiny black case. He blinks, his expression startled, but waits for Dream to catch up.

“What are you doin’ here?” Techno asks as soon as Dream comes within earshot.

“Hello to you too,” Dream huffs, smiling to show Techno he’s teasing. “I was just planning on getting a coffee.”

“What a coincidence. I was plannin’ on doin’ the same.” Techno opens the door wider, and Dream gratefully ducks under the violinist’s arm and steps into the cafe.

As if in silent agreement, he and Techno walk up to the line together. There’s a few customers in front of them, so Dream turns to Techno. “Rehearsal?” he asks.

Techno nods. “Yeah. We got a concert next weekend.”

Dream makes a mental note of that. “How was it? The rehearsal, I mean.”

“Rough.” Techno exhales. “Our conductor was in a cranky mood, so he was basically findin’ any excuse to snap at us. The wind section got chewed out so hard I’m surprised none of them burst into tears.”

“Ooh,” Dream says, wincing. “That’s harsh. What are you guys gonna be performing?”

“Bruckner 7.”

“What’s the Bruch you were practicing for, then?”

“Oh, that.” Techno bashfully scratches the back of his neck, and it’s a strangely endearing sight. “That’s a solo I’m goin’ to be doin’ soonish. Like, in three months. And then after that is ballet season…” He heaves a sigh, as if already dreading it.

A solo . Dream feels his heart skip a beat. He doesn’t usually go to many orchestra concerts, but he has to go watch Techno perform his solo, just like how he would always go watch Sapnap’s concerts back in high school- never mind the fact that he’s known Techno for barely a fraction of the time he’s known Sapnap.

“These performances,” Dream says, as casually as he can. “Is it too late to buy a ticket, do you think?”

Techno frowns. “Probably not. Why?” He glances at Dream. “Are you plannin’ to come see me perform or somethin’?”

“Maybe,” Dream replies, blushing. “I just thought that I should come support you, y’know?”

Two dots of pink touch Techno’s cheeks, turning them the same color as his rosy hair. “You don’t have to do that,” he says. “You’re not obligated to come watch me perform just ‘cause we’re neighbors.”

“But I want to,” Dream replies truthfully, that strange fluttering sensation returning to his stomach when Techno smiles at him.

“Thanks,” the violinist says. “You don’t have to come to both of them, though. Tickets are expensive.”

“I’ll see what I can do.”

The person in front of them in line leaves, allowing them to step up to the counter. There’s a pretty but bored-looking employee standing with her elbows propped on the counter, but she perks up visibly when she sees Techno. Fluttering her eyelashes, she smiles coyly at him. “What can I do for you, pretty boy?”

Techno stares her dead in the eyes. “Stop flirtin’ with me. And a black coffee with honey, please.”

The girl’s mouth opens and closes like a fish’s. Dream stifles a laugh- he knows he should feel bad for the girl for getting her advances rejected so harshly, but there’s just something funny about Techno’s supremely unimpressed expression. He clears his throat to relieve the tension a little and gives the girl a polite smile. “A mocha for me, please.”

She steals a glance at Techno before nodding stiffly. “Coming right up.”

They get their drinks in no time, and as soon as they’ve stepped out of the line and sat down at an empty table, Dream breaks down into a fit of giggles. Techno watches him laugh, the corner of his mouth twitching up.

“Sorry,” Dream gasps, breathless. “That was just- really funny, for some reason.”

“I’ve been told I have a good dead-inside face,” Techno says, grinning.

“You do,” Dream agrees. “I feel sorta bad for her, but at the same time…”

Techno shrugs. “I’m gay,” he says simply, and that two-word statement makes something warm and pleased, something akin to satisfaction, pool in Dream’s chest. Does Techno’s sexuality matter? No, not really. But for some reason, the knowledge that the pinkette is gay makes Dream feel weirdly relieved.

“That’s cool. I’m pan,” he says, for absolutely no good reason.

“Imagine bein’ straight, cringe,” Techno jokes.

Dream laughs. “Couldn’t be us.”

“Couldn’t be us.” Techno sips his coffee, his eyes flickering down to where Dream’s right hand is resting on the table. Dream realizes too late that he’s subconsciously started to do what all pianists do- drum his fingers on the table. He blushes and quickly puts his hand in his lap, mumbling a low “Sorry”.

“Nah, it’s fine. I do fingerings on my arm and practice my bow hold on chopsticks, so, like, I can’t judge.”

“That’s true,” Dream giggles, relieved that Techno isn’t bothered by his habit. “Us musicians are just weird, I guess.”

“We are.” Techno unstraps his violin from his back and carefully leans it against the leg of the table. He reclines in his chair, his pink locks sweeping around his shoulders, his ruby eyes catching the sunlight. Dream is suddenly, painfully aware of just how attractive Techno is, and his heart flutters like the wings of a baby bird.

“How big are your hands?” Techno asks suddenly.

“Oh! An octave.” Dream spreads his fingers out as wide as they can go, which is not very wide. The size of his hands has always been a frustration for him, being a piano player, but he makes do by altering pieces so they’re easier to play.

Techno winces. “Rachmaninoff must be a pain.”

“Yeah,” Dream sighs. “How big are your hands?”

Techno lifts his hand into the air, spreading his fingers. Without thinking, Dream copies him and presses their palms together.

It’s such a simple, trivial thing, but the sudden skin-to-skin contact with Techno knocks the wind right out of Dream’s lungs. All of a sudden, he finds himself hyper-aware of the warmth of Techno’s hand, the very thin layer of sweat covering the violinist’s palm. Techno’s fingers are a little longer than Dream’s, and the ones on his left hand are covered with deep calluses. His right pinkie is a little crooked, probably from holding a bow. Dream’s hand could easily fit into his, and the thought sends a rush of something warm throughout Dream’s body.

“Bro,” Techno says, stretching his fingers out a little more. “Your hand is tiny.”

Dream blushes, feeling flustered. He pulls his hand away. “Maybe your hand is just abnormally large. A lot of pianists would kill for your hands, you know. That’s, like, C to F. Still not enough for Rachmaninoff, though.”

“Is anythin’ ever enough for Rachmaninoff?” Techno wonders. He lowers his hand as well and lets out a sudden laugh.

“What?” Dream asks, smiling.

“I just realized how nerdy we’re bein’ right now. Like, comparin’ hand sizes? That’s such a musician thing to do.”

“People are staring at us,” Dream giggles under his breath. 

“Imagine I just pull out my violin right now and start playin’, like, Sibelius.” Techno slumps in his seat with a sigh. “I’d break everyone’s ears with how horribly out of tune I’d be.”

“Hah, imagine having to tune your instrument yourself.”

Techno gives Dream a half-hearted glare. “Imagine bein’ a pianist.”

“Imagine being a violinist.”

“Imagine only bein’ able to cover an octave on a piano.”

“That’s not fair! I can’t help how small my hands are.”

“Sounds like an excuse to me.”

The argument continues for a while until they’re both laughing into their sleeves, their coffees forgotten. Then Techno brings up a random story from rehearsal, and they talk for what could’ve been hours or minutes, until Dream finally looks up and realizes, with a jolt, how much time has passed since he and Techno walked into the cafe. The sunlight outside has gained the telltale golden glint of late afternoon, and the clock on the wall reads 5:37.

“We’ve been here for three hours,” he marvels.

“Seriously?” Techno checks the clock as well. “Good thing I didn’t have anythin’ important this afternoon. Though I should probably go home and practice.”

“Same,” Dream sighs. “But now that you’ve reminded me how small my hands are, I might just go home and stare at my piano in a state of depression.”

Techno laughs. “Hey, you’re still really good regardless.”

“Thanks,” Dream says, blushing. “Maybe we can practice that Butterfly Lovers concerto some more at some point?”

“Yep.” Techno stands up, his hair swishing around him as he bends over to grab his violin. “By the way,” he says, and when he looks up at Dream his cheeks are little pink. “Do you have any upcomin’ performances that I could… hypothetically attend?”

Dream blinks, his heart skipping a beat in his chest. “Oh,” he squeaks. “Um, yeah. It’s in a few months, though. And it’s obviously piano, so I don’t know how much you’d enjoy it.”

“Dream,” Techno says with an eyeroll that has zero annoyance whatsoever, “I don’t actually hate piano. It’s a nice instrument, and you make it sound even better.”

Techno might’ve called Dream beautiful for how much his words make Dream blush. Dream doesn’t consider himself one to get flustered or embarrassed easily, but maybe he has to reconsider that. Or maybe it’s just something about Techno. Maybe the pinkette specifically has a way of making Dream blush- his voice deep and soothing like the low end of a piano, his words sweet beneath all the sarcasm, his eyes like pools of crimson. 

“Oh.” Dream drums on the table again, his fingers moving on their own and tapping out the first movement of Tchaikovsky’s piano concerto number 2. “In that case, I can text you the date and time?”

“Sounds good,” Techno says, his easy tone betrayed only by the faint pink hue still lingering on his cheeks. “Well… I’m assumin’ you’ll get home on your own, so… see you again some time?”

“Yeah,” Dream says, and he smiles before he can stop himself. “See ya.”

They part ways to go back to the building. Dream isn’t sure which one of them arrives first, but as he’s emerging from the bathroom with a fresh change of clothes on, he hears Techno starting to tune next door. A burst of excitement hits him again, and he rushes to the piano. He only needs to press two keys before finding the right note, and he thinks he hears Techno laugh through the wall.

They play the Butterfly Lovers concerto again- only once this time, before Techno starts practicing Bruckner. But it’s enough for the sweet, lilting melody to be stuck in Dream’s head as he goes to bed that night.

---

The realization comes gradually, like a slow crescendo.

It starts to grow as they begin spending more time together. One day they bump into each other outside the building, Techno about to leave and Dream coming back from the store, and Techno asks, with slightly flushed cheeks, if Dream would like to come get boba with him. Dream says yes, of course, and it snowballs from there. 

They start going everywhere together- the bubble tea shop, the cafe, the thrift store where they spend five minutes laughing over a horribly inaccurate musical sweatshirt. Dream still spends a lot of time on his own, of course, or with his other friends, but as the days go by, he finds himself hanging out with Techno more often than not. Sometimes it’s Techno who asks if he wants to go somewhere, and sometimes it’s him who takes the initiative, but not a week goes by without them going to get boba or coffee at least once.

And the realization starts to come, little by little. He starts to notice things- the way his heart flutters whenever he sees Techno with his hair down and his sleeves rolled up to reveal his well-built forearms, the way Techno’s laugh makes him feel all warm inside, the way he’s begun to subconsciously make a mental list of all of Techno’s quirks and habits.

It’s the mundane things, the simple things, about Techno that really seem to get to him- things like Techno’s crooked right pinkie, his broad knowledge about everything concerning Greek mythology, his tendency to always take a moment and carefully line up his straw when drinking boba so that he can puncture the lid cleanly. Techno is a normal human being, yet at the same time, he’s the most fascinating person Dream has ever met. It’s not even because he’s a concertmaster and soloist- it’s because he’s so authentic, so genuine, so… him . A nerdy violinist who doesn’t try to hide it one bit.

Being with Techno makes Dream feel inexplicably happy, like sunlight on a warm day, and in hindsight, the realization had been sneaking up on him for a while. But when it hits, it still catches him off guard.

They’re in Techno’s living room, having retreated there with their bubble teas after it had started raining. A random show is playing on TV, but Dream is more focused on looking around Techno’s apartment. There are traces of the pinkette’s personality everywhere- in the simple but tasteful furniture, the antique coffee table, the multiple bookshelves and houseplants. The kitchen is spotless (“because I don’t use it”), save for the dishes piled in the sink, and dog fur litters the floor. Where the piano is in Dream’s living room, Techno’s instead has a music stand, a small shelf full of sheet music, and a dog bed for his dog, Steve.

The layout is the exact same as Dream’s apartment; the only difference is their different decorating styles. And yet Dream feels almost as at home in Techno’s apartment as his own. He can imagine himself here all the time, sitting on the gray couch or making something in the kitchen- because it’s a crime that Techno has never had chicken marsala. And the weirdest part is, he wants to be here all the time, because here is where Techno is most of the time.

It hits him then, that realization that had been slowly building up like the climax of a symphonic movement. Oh, god, he thinks, I’m in love with Techno .

There’s no other word for it. What else would you call wanting to spend all of your time with another person? True friendship, maybe, but that wouldn’t explain why Dream’s heart flutters every time he sees Techno. It doesn’t explain why Techno’s smiles can make him blush so easily. It doesn’t explain why sometimes, when he’s lying in his bed late at night, he imagines what it would be like to kiss Techno.

F*ck. He’s in love with Techno.

“Hey.” Dream nearly jumps out of his skin at the sound of Techno’s voice. He turns, and, sh*t- Techno is looking at him, eyebrows furrowed with concern. “You okay?”

Dream swallows. Techno’s glasses are slipping down his nose, his hair framing his sharp jaw, and he looks really hot, and Dream suddenly really, really wants to grab Techno’s face and smash their lips together.

He doesn’t, though- because that would totally destroy their friendship, and he shouldn’t even be thinking about doing that anyways. Instead, he pushes down his urges and forces a smile. “Yeah. I’m good. Just thinking about… things.”

Techno takes a sip of bubble tea, his Adam’s apple bobbing as he swallows. “Imagine havin’ functionin’ brain cells, cringe.”

“You’re so stupid,” Dream giggles, allowing maybe a little too much affection to seep into his voice. “I think all this bubble tea really has killed your brain cells.”

“That’s a trade I’m willin’ to make.” Techno takes another sip. His large hands are wrapped fully around the bubble tea cup, his right pinkie crooked like always, and he’s just- gorgeous. Sitting there in his glasses and hoodie, his hair flowing like rose silk, his neck graced with a dark hickey. Dream wants to kiss him so badly it hurts.

He shouldn’t be having these thoughts, shouldn’t be thinking about kissing Techno. Techno, whom he’d only met a few months ago; Techno, who’s totally out of his league. But, looking back, he doesn’t think he could’ve helped it. Not when Techno is so nerdy and unique and totally his type.

He’s in love with Techno, but he shouldn’t be, and oh god, what does he do now?

You could confess , a tiny voice in the back of his brain whispers. Dream ignores it- confessing would be a disaster. Techno would probably stop talking to him out of pure disgust, and Dream can’t bear to imagine that scenario. Maybe it’ll slowly kill him to keep quiet, but he’d rather that than drive Techno out of his life completely.

“Hey,” Techno says. “You wanna watch somethin’ else?”

Dream pretends that he isn’t aching to press their lips together and smiles. “Sure.”

---

Dream never managed to make it to the Bruckner concert, but he does manage to procure tickets for Techno’s Bruch concerto performance as a soloist, and that’s the event that matters most to him. On the night of the concert, he puts on his best outfit- a mint green dress that goes down to his knees, and a thick white cardigan over that because it’s cold outside. It’ll probably attract stares from people wondering why there’s a dude in a dress, but he honestly doesn’t care. He wants to look nice- partly for the performance, and maybe a little for Techno as well.

He makes it to the concert hall early, turns off his phone, and finds his seat. It’s in the middle because he didn’t purchase his ticket early, but he still has a clear view of the stage. The chairs and stands have already been set up in a semicircle, and in the middle is the area where Techno and the conductor will stand.

Dream waits anxiously, tapping his foot against the ground and drumming his fingers on the chair arm. He stops when the older woman next to him shoots him a glare, but by that point the orchestra has begun to file out. The conductor comes out next, followed by Techno- and Dream feels like he’s falling all over again.

The first thing he notices is that Techno is wearing a suit- a gray suit that he looks unfairly good in. His hair is pulled back in a high ponytail, and he’s holding his violin. As the crowd applauses, his crimson eyes scan the concert hall and find Dream’s unnervingly. For the briefest second, a smile flits across his face, and Dream feels a tingle of electricity shoot up his spine.

The clapping starts to die down as the conductor takes his spot at the front. Techno follows with all the confidence of a god among mortals, his expression now impassive and his hair swishing gently behind him. He lifts his violin to playing position and stares at the conductor, arm flexed in preparation to play.

With a flick of the conductor’s baton, the small orchestral ensemble starts to play. Then the conductor turns to Techno, and the pinkette’s bow finally touches his strings.

All at once, the world fades around Dream, people and objects blurring into misshapen blobs of color and shadow. The only thing in focus is Techno, standing on the stage. He’s striking, his expression a strange balance between fierce and serene, his left hand shaking with careful vibrato and his bow gliding confidently across the violin strings. Dream usually doesn’t pay much attention to how the soloist looks during a performance, but there’s something about Techno that pulls his attention like a nail to a magnet. It’s always been like that.

Techno plays like he’s standing in the eye of a hurricane. He plays like he’s trying to bring on the change of seasons. He plays like there’s no one else in the hall, just him, and Dream honestly wouldn’t notice- or care- if the ceiling fell in right then and there. His mind is fixated on how stunning Techno looks, how gorgeous Techno’s playing is, how desperately he wants to move closer just to soak in the music better.

He starts to become hyperaware of all of Techno’s little movements, the way he shifts around slightly on the stage or furrows his brow in concentration. Every now and then Techno’s eyes will flutter shut, and he’ll look like he’s totally and completely lost in the music, his body swaying like willow trees in the wind. He looks especially beautiful like that, and Dream can’t decide what’s better- the music, or the way Techno plays it, plays through every crescendo and ritardando like it’s something to savor.

Dream stays put, captivated, for the entire 25 minute performance, and when it’s over he claps louder than everyone around him. He watches as Techno bows, smiling slightly, and exits the stage with the conductor and the orchestra. He watches, and he stares after Techno, wishing he could talk to the pinkette but already resigning himself to going home and daydreaming of those lips again.

He’s in the parking lot, one hand on the door handle of his old Honda, when he hears a deep voice behind him. “Hey.”

“Techno!” Dream whirls around, heart skipping with happiness. Techno is standing there, still in that fitted charcoal suit, his violin and bow in hand. His hair has been let out of the ponytail, and he looks relieved that the performance is over. Dream itches to throw his arms around the pinkette, but he settles on hurrying over to Techno and placing his hands on Techno’s shoulders instead. “You sounded so good, oh my god!”

“It went better than I expected,” Techno agrees with a smile. He doesn’t move away from Dream’s grip, and his shoulders are firm and warm underneath Dream’s hands. “Although my fingers were sweaty.”

“My fingers get sweaty too,” Dream confesses, finally lowering his hands and grinning up at Techno. “At least you didn’t get a shaky bow, though.”

“Thank God for that.” Techno shifts his violin and bow to his other hand, looking suddenly awkward. “Hey, uh, I know you’re probably tired, but do you want to-”

“Get some bubble tea?”

Techno laughs. “Yeah.”

“Techno, I always want to get bubble tea with you.” Dream gives himself a mental punch as soon as the words leave his mouth, because really, how much cheesier can he sound? But Techno only smiles, and is that a little red on his cheeks?

“I’ll put my violin away, then, and we can go.” Techno jogs off towards the other end of the parking lot, returning empty-handed a few moments later. It reminds Dream strangely of a businessperson jogging into their firm, and he laughs out loud.

“What?” Techno demands, quirking an eyebrow.

“Nothing,” Dream says, hiding his smile. “You just looked like someone late for work when you were jogging back to your car. Are you not going to change out of your suit?”

“My clothes are at home. And it’s a pretty comfortable suit.”

“I don’t like suits. They itch. Dresses are better.” Dream twirls a little, making the skirt of his dress flare out. He notices Techno watching him and blushes. “What?”

“Nothin’.” Techno clears his throat and quickly looks away. Strange. “You look nice in that dress.”

“Oh.” Dream blushes, suddenly terribly aware of how awkwardly his hands are dangling at his side and unsure of what to do with them. He settles on shoving them into the pockets of his cardigan, drawing the fabric closer to himself as a cold breeze whips through the parking lot. “Thank you.”

Techno’s cheeks are definitely red now- maybe from the cold , Dream tells himself, though it falls flat even in his own mind. The violinist clears his throat again and hums. “Shall we go?”

“Who says ‘shall’ anymore? Old person,” Dream teases, following Techno out of the parking lot and down the sidewalk.

“At least I’m not as old as Phil,” Techno replies, his lips twitching.

“Who’s Phil?”

“Oh, a friend of mine. He’s a conductor, but for a different orchestra.”

“Is he old?”

“Yeah. He’s gettin’ forgetful and everythin’. Soon enough he’ll be mixin’ up the violinists and the violists.”

Dream laughs, and they fall into comfortable silence, broken only by Techno’s quiet humming of the concerto he just performed. He’s gazing off into the distance as they walk, his eyes sort of far away. It’s a look he wears often, and Dream has come to understand it as Techno’s thinking-about-something-random face. Yet another endearing thing about the pinkette, another thing that Dream loves.

Loves . It’s still a little hard to stomach that he’s in love with Techno, this handsome and amazing violinist whom he’d met only back in August. He’s not the type of person to fall in love with random people, and yet here he is- his heart fluttering with every smile Techno gives him, his dreams filled with pink hair and ruby eyes. 

But Techno’s not just some random person. He’s the most fascinating person Dream has ever met, and he’s also just- genuine. So different from the plastic people with their facades that Dream has met a lot of since entering adulthood. Techno doesn’t try to hide who he is, doesn’t try to hide his nerdiness and dark humor. He’s confident, funny, and wonderful in every way. Looking at it like that, Dream supposes it’s not that much of a surprise that he’d fallen so quickly.

They reach the edge of a crosswalk where the light is green; Dream stops, but Techno doesn’t. The pinkette almost steps right into the road before Dream reaches out and grabs his elbow, pulling him back. Techno blinks, then glances down and gives Dream a smile. “Thanks.”

Dream’s heart melts a little. “You’re welcome,” he murmurs. It takes him a few moments to realize that his hand is still wrapped around Techno’s elbow, and he reluctantly releases it.

The light changes. They cross, and Techno says, “Was my playin’ actually good, though? Like, you’re not just sayin’ that to be nice?”

“Of course not,” Dream says fiercely. “It sounded amazing, and now I’m wondering how I’m going to sound that good at my concert.”

“Hey.” Techno nudges him gently. “You can’t compare piano and violin. Would help to have bigger hands, though. You sure you don’t wanna, I dunno- get that fixed or somethin’?”

Dream places his hands on his hips and glares at Techno. “And how would I do that, O Wise One?”

Techno laughs. “Just chop ‘em off.”

“What, and play with my feet?”

“No, and then go get some new hands and attach them. I’m sure you can find them at, I dunno, a hospital or somethin’.”

“Oh, right. Hey, you wanna go break into a hospital with me?”

Again Techno laughs, that rich and deep sound that rumbles in his chest. He looks happier when he laughs, more at ease, and Dream makes a mental note to make Techno laugh more.

The bubble tea store comes into view, and they walk inside. Because of the late hour, the employee whips up their drinks in no time, and within five minutes they’re back outside, bubble teas in hand. Dream can’t help but notice, again, how big Techno’s hands are, how they wrap completely around the cup of tea. He wonders what it would be like to hold them, to feel every groove and callus. What he wouldn’t give to find out.

They cross the road again to a small park area with benches and sit down to drink their bubble teas. Techno starts to hum the Bruch concerto again, but he stops after a few bars and points to Dream’s left hand. “What piece is that?”

“Huh?” Dream glances down at his hand, not surprised in the slightest to realize that he’d begun tapping his fingers again. He taps a little longer, allowing muscle memory to take over, until the piece comes to him. “La Campanella, I think.”

“Oh, by the ripoff Paganini guy,” Techno says, a teasing glint in his eyes.

Dream playfully shoves him. “You mean the hotter Paganini. Liszt got girls. Paganini had to pay for them.”

“Eh. Paganini is still better.” Techno makes a bowing motion with his right hand like he’s playing a violin.

“You’re just biased because you’re a violinist.”

“And you’re a pianist with tiny hands, so I think I’m obviously superior.”

“Hey!” Dream protests, whacking Techno on the arm. “It’s not my fault I got the short end of the gene pool.”

Techno laughs, his ruby eyes bright and shining. He’s lost his usual deadpan expression, and now he just looks… happy. Content. It’s a look Dream wants to see forever, a look he wants to be the cause of.

“Hey, Dream,” Techno says, and Dream looks at him- sitting there in that gray suit,  his hair like a waterfall that Dream desperately wants to dip his fingers in.

“Yeah, Techno?”

“You should practice more often.”

Dream scrunches up his shoulders defensively, as any musician would when the topic of their practice lengths comes up. “I do practice. And it depends on my mood.”

“No, no, I meant-” Techno hesitates, then continues, in a softer, almost shy tone of voice, “I like listening to you practice. That’s what I meant.”

“Oh,” Dream says. He blushes, heart fluttering, warmth rushing into his chest. “Thanks. I- like listening to you practice too.” He swallows. Takes a deep breath. Blurts out, “What’s your favorite piano piece?”

“I’m not sure,” Techno says slowly. “Liebestraum, maybe? I usually don’t like piano pieces from the Romantic era, but Liszt is nice.”

“You don’t like Romantic,” Dream murmurs, unsure if that’s blood rushing in his ears or if he’s just imagining the roaring sound. “But pretty much all I practice is from the Romantic Era, save for a little Bach or Rachmaninoff. And you said you wanted to attend my upcoming performance for Tchaikovsky .”

“Well.” Techno blushes and looks away. “I might not like most Romantic piano pieces, but that doesn’t mean I don’t like the way you play them.”

Something warm pools in Dream’s chest, warming his heart until it melts into a useless puddle. He’s breathless, all the air knocked out of his lungs as he meets Techno’s rose-red eyes. Techno’s voice, usually so sarcastic or deadpan, is dripping with honeyed sincerity, and oh, Dream could kiss him.

Thankfully, he has a bit more impulse control than that. He sucks in a shaky breath and smiles. “Thank you. Maybe I will practice more.”

Techno’s cheeks turn a darker shade of red, which is honestly sort of cute. “No pressure, obviously. I’m just sayin’, I enjoy listenin’ to you practice, so you don’t have to hold back or anythin’.”

“I won’t,” Dream promises.

Techno flashes a small but genuine smile. “Good.”

---

On the drive home, Dream keeps one hand on the steering wheel. His other hand rests on his thigh, tapping out the melody of Liebestraum.

Chapter Text

“Oh my god, oh my god, oh my god!”

Techno smiles into his cup of tea as Dream claps his hands over his mouth and shrieks, eyes glued to the show playing on TV. The blonde always gets so invested in shows, so excited, and it’s adorable.

“Oh my god!” Dream gasps again, reaching over and shaking Techno’s arm. “Techno, they-” He squeals again, his whole body trembling.

“Dream, are you okay?” Techno deadpans, still holding his tea to his face to hide his stupidly wide smile.

“No.” Dream throws his hands over his face again, squeaking into them once more before returning to watching the show with wide eyes.

It’s a good show, Techno supposes, but he’s never been as into things on TV as other people. He’d rather curl up with a good book, like the one about Chinese mythology that he’s working through right now. So instead of watching along with Dream, Techno clutches his cup closer and allows himself to zone out.

His thoughts go to the same thing they have been going to for the past few weeks- Dream. Pretty, pretty Dream, with his slender fingers, fluffy blonde hair, and bottle green eyes. Meeting him was like the start of a new movement in the symphony of Techno’s life, and now that it’s here, Techno can’t help but feel like the previous movements were… not dull, exactly, but lacking the vibrancy and color that Dream has brought into his life.

He thinks that really, vibrant and colorful is a good way to describe Dream. The blonde seems to always be in motion- his foot tapping against the floor, his legs jiggling, his fingers tapping against any hard surface they come across. He does everything with an energy Techno only can muster on stage. It should be annoying, but it’s only refreshing, almost like Dream is a missing piece Techno never knew he needed.

That’s the thing, the thing Techno loves and is maybe a little afraid of. Dream fits so perfectly into his life, fits into it so well Techno finds it a little hard to believe that the blonde wasn’t always there, drinking bubble tea with him or playing with him through the walls that separate their apartments. He swears that Dream now spends almost as much time in his apartment as in Dream’s own, and Techno is maybe (definitely) a little (a lot) in love with the way Dream bustles around the kitchen like he owns the place or curls up on the couch like it’s his. He’s maybe a little in love with watching Dream’s fingers dance over the varnished wood of his coffee table, playing out a piece on imaginary keys.

(He’s maybe a little in love with Dream too, but he tries not to think about that.)

Techno glances sideways at Dream- radiant, beautiful Dream, piercing through his world like sunshine beaming through rainclouds. Dream’s appearance had been one of the first things to strike Techno, one of the first things to cement itself in his heart. Those silky-looking, golden curls; those eyes like emerald glass- Techno could stare at Dream all day. Maybe he would, if he had the chance.

It would’ve been nice for Techno’s sanity if Dream had just been pretty on the outside, but no. As the months had gone by, Techno had learned more and more about his new neighbor, more things to pull at his heart. Dream loves cooking and baking. Dream gets overly emotional at movies. Dream sometimes goes into the woods near the apartment complex to feed the birds bread because he can’t hang up a birdfeeder. Most of all, Dream is an amazing pianist.

Techno remembers being little and watching his sister practice piano. Over the years he’d listened to many performances, but no one else has ever played like Dream does. No one else coaxes the keys to sing instead of just pressing them; no one else plays with as much emotion; no one else can make Techno sit on his couch for hours, just listening to the sound of practice. Even when Dream messes up it still sounds beautiful, and more than anything, Techno longs to see Dream play as well as hear.

He has that concert coming up , Techno’s brain reminds him, and he feels a shiver of excitement- a completely unnecessary shiver of excitement, but necessity and rationality seem to have been slowly abandoning him ever since meeting Dream. Funny how being with someone who fits you perfectly and makes you feel inexplicably happy can do that to you.

“Techno!” Dream gasps again, his hands latching onto Techno’s arm once more. “Did you see that?”

“Heh?” Techno blinks, the world coming back into focus. How long had he been zoned out for? He glances down at his tea, glad to see that none of it has spilled, and then at Dream.

The blonde frowns cutely. “Were you even watching?” he accuses.

Techno grins sheepishly. “Uh…”

“Never mind.” Dream heaves an exaggerated sigh, his eyes twinkling to let Techno know that he’s just joking. “You missed the good part, though.”

“Oh no, the tragedy,” Techno deadpans, and Dream laughs. He has a nice laugh- bright and full of joy. Techno would crack all the jokes in the world to hear that laugh.

He focuses on the TV again, sipping his tea and trying to ignore the way his heart tugs minisculely in his chest, pulling towards Dream.

---

They go grocery shopping together, because Techno’s fridge is almost empty and Dream had insisted on tagging along to fix Techno’s apparently horrible dining habits. Techno supposes he could’ve said no, but he never has the heart to say no when Dream gets all stubborn and cute about things. Besides, at this point, the pianist has basically taken over his kitchen anyways.

They take Techno’s car to a local grocery store where Techno does most of his shopping. He picks out a cart, and together they walk into the store. It’s on the smaller side but filled with neat rows of colorful vegetables and fruits that Techno always likes to look at- not that he ever buys anything from the fresh produce aisle except for apples and occasionally grapes. After all, he doesn’t cook.

He makes to breeze down the produce aisle, but Dream stops him. “Wait. You’re not going to buy anything here?”

“Uh,” Techno says sheepishly, rubbing the back of his head. “No?”

Dream places his hands on his hips and stares at Techno. “Techno, are you not eating your vegetables?”

Techno laughs, warm fondness rushing through him. “You sound like every mom ever.”

“I have experience with my younger siblings,” Dream says breezily, and an image flashes through Techno’s mind of Dream wearing a knit cardigan and an apron, bustling around and reprimanding small kids about eating their vegetables. It shouldn’t be as endearing of a mental image as it is.

“I eat fruit,” Techno points out, reaching over and starting to pick out some apples. “But I don’t cook, so I don’t really need to buy fresh produce. The vegetables usually come with the food I order.”

“I guess I could afford to order food, but I prefer to cook my own. It’s a lot more fun.” Dream scans the row of vegetables and fruit, his hands still on his hips. He looks cute, almost soft, in his cream-colored sweater vest and loose jeans, and Techno is far too obsessed with it.

Swallowing, he distracts himself by putting the apples in a bag and placing the bag in the cart. When he turns back around, Dream is choosing some bell peppers. Techno frowns. “What are you doin’?”

“Getting some peppers,” Dream replies, his attention focused on the green one he’s scrutinizing for who knows what.

“Uh… I don’t cook,” Techno points out.

“I know, but I do.”

It takes a moment for the implication to compute in Techno’s mind, but when it does, he squints at Dream. “Are you sayin’ you’re goin’ to… cook for me?”

Dream nudges him playfully. “Someone’s gotta save you from your boring takeout diet and feed you actual home-cooked food every once in a while.” Beneath the joking tone, though, Techno can hear the sweet genuineness of Dream’s words, and it makes his heart squeeze in his chest.

He should do the polite thing and insist that Dream doesn’t have to do that, but then he’d be lying to himself- because he wants Dream to cook for him. Not only because he’s sure that Dream’s cooking would taste better than his usual frozen meals, but also because… it’s Dream. It’s Dream, and the thought of the blonde cooking for him sends a rush of something through Techno’s whole body.

“I- don’t wanna make you pay for food that I’m goin’ to be eatin’,” he protests half-heartedly.

Dream tilts his head in thought, still holding the bell pepper in his hand. Finally he says, “How about we each get our own stuff that we pay for, and then I get enough of everything else for both of us, and we split that cost?”

Rational Techno would probably analyze that plan for financial flaws and say no. But Rational Techno is very rarely in control when Dream is around, and so Techno nods. “Deal.”

“Yay!” Dream beams, his emerald eyes bright with excitement, and Techno’s heart melts a little. He decides that he’d made the right choice.

Dream begins picking out bell peppers again, choosing three in different colors and putting them in a bag before moving down the aisle. Techno dutifully follows with the cart, already accepting the fact that he’s probably going to be the designated cart-pusher while Dream does the actual shopping.

They move slowly through the produce section, stopping often so Dream can grab stuff. The cart begins to fill up with various vegetables that Techno has never touched before in his life- including onions, which he doesn’t really like, but he decides to trust Dream with it and stay quiet.

They each get some stuff from themselves in the grain section- although Techno puts the cookies back after Dream insists on making him freshly baked ones- before moving to the meat section. Techno makes to grab a package of frozen meatballs, but before he can put it in the cart, it’s snatched out of his hands.

“Hey!” he protests. “What was that for?”

“Frozen meatballs are gross,” Dream replies, putting the package back.

Techno huffs fondly. “They work for me.”

“Still, I’m not letting you sustain yourself forever on pre packaged meatballs. I’ll make you some.”

“You’re, like, so healthy I’m startin’ to doubt that you’re actually a musician.”

Dream giggles. “You should see my sleep schedule. I just like cooking, okay? For myself and other people. Plus, would you rather have this -” he gestures to the frozen meatballs- “or freshly made Swedish meatballs, fried in a nice thin layer of oil, with sauce and noodles?”

“Can’t I have that with frozen meatballs?”

“Well, yeah, but trust me- homemade meatballs are the best.” Dream grabs a package of ground beef and places it in the cart before looking up at Techno, a serious expression on his face. “You do trust me to do this, right?”

“Of course I do,” Techno says quickly. “You’re probably an amazin’ chef. I’m just tryin’ to lighten your workload, that’s all. I mean, you’re a professional musician and a teacher- you have to have a really busy schedule.”

“Doesn’t mean I don’t have time to cook for you,” Dream says airily, bustling past Techno and grabbing some more things. Techno sighs, not at all annoyed, and follows.

They make their way through the rest of the store without much incident, save for Dream grabbing another frozen package out of Techno’s hand, because “ No , Techno, you can’t survive solely on caffeine and frozen veggie burgers.” Techno doesn’t protest, and in the end they both grab a small tub of ice cream for themselves- mint for Dream, strawberry for Techno.

Paying is a bit of a complicated affair, but they manage, and a few minutes later they’re out of the store. As they wheel the cart towards Techno’s car, Dream turns to him. “Hey, do you mind if I cook us something for lunch when we get back?”

“What do you have in mind?” Techno replies, though he really wants to scream yes, please, I’m starving .

Dream grins. “Chicken marsala. You’ve never had it before, and I want to fix that.”

Techno looks at Dream, fluffy hair shining like gold silk in the sunlight and eyes glinting like jewels, and really, there’s only one answer he can give. “Sure.”

“Yay!” Dream cheers, and he’s just- cute. Cuter than Techno ever thought it was possible for a person to be.

It looks almost exactly the same as it had the last time. There’s the baby grand piano, the cat tree in the corner, the messy couch and the music books scattered haphazardly on the dining table. Dream fits it, somehow, with his equally messy hair and clothes, and he looks totally in his environment as he bustles into the kitchen and takes command of the groceries. It’s strangely fascinating.

“Okay!” Dream claps his hands together, surveying his kitchen- the groceries put away and the ingredients for lunch out. He flashes Techno a grin. “Watch and learn, Techno. This is how you cook.”

“That is a life skill I will likely never use, but okay,” Techno deadpans, moving closer to watch as Dream moves to the counter and begins to put chicken on a cutting board. A sudden desire bubbles up in his gut, the urge to move even closer and wrap his arms around Dream from behind and-

Techno blinks. Where had that come from? He looks again at Dream, who’s busily cutting the chicken, and his arms tingle with that urge again- to fall around Dream’s waist and tug the blonde close.

He shakes his head furiously, trying to clear the thoughts, thoughts he shouldn’t be having. But Dream is right in front of him, tantalizingly short and small. He would surely fit perfectly in Techno’s arms, and Techno swallows, itching to try it.

No , he tells himself firmly, before he can be enticed to actually do it. Don’t do it. It’s weird, and it’ll creep him out . He repeats the words over and over in his mind until the urge lessens, retreating back into a dark corner within him. An audible sigh of relief escapes his mouth.

“Techno, can you help me real quick?” Dream calls, and Techno shoves all thoughts about what the hell had just happened into the Freak-out-about-later box in the back of his mind. 

He moves closer, keeping his arms firmly at his side. “Sure. What do you need?”

“Can you get some stuff from the pantry for me?”

“Um, sure.” Techno opens the door to what he thinks is the pantry and stares at the rows and rows of bottles and seasoning jars inside. “Uh.”

Dream giggles. “I need the flour.”

That, at least, Techno knows the appearance of. He scans the shelves until he spots a box full of white powder and checks to make sure it’s flour,  not cocaine, before bringing it over to Dream. “What’s the flour for?”

“It’s to coat the chicken,” Dream explains, measuring out some flour and dumping it in a bowl with salt and pepper. He mixes the powders with his hands, then pours it into a bag and begins to put the chicken in. “See? And now we shake until the chicken is covered.”

“Fascinatin’.” Techno peers into the bag, trying his hardest to ignore Dream right next to him. He still has to breathe, though, and when he inhales, he catches a faint whiff of something citrus-y coming from Dream’s hair. God, he smells good , his traitorous mind thinks deliriously.

Heat crawls up his cheeks, but thankfully, Dream doesn’t seem to notice. The blonde sweeps past Techno, grabbing an iron pan and placing it on the stove. Techno watches, watches as Dream expertly drizzles some oil into the pan and dumps in a bit of butter. He makes the tiny apartment kitchen look like a five-star restaurant, and Techno is once again way too obsessed with it- with the way Dream bustles around like a Michelin chef, cooking up a delicious meal.

“You know, we have that performance soon,” Dream says as he waits for the stovetop to heat up. “We should probably practice together.”

“Oh, don’t talk about that performance,” Techno mutters, silently cringing at the thought. “I already have to practice and do rehearsals for ballet season… did you know they’re doin’ the Rite of Spring this year? My tiny brain can’t keep up with that many meter changes!”

Dream laughs. “Hey, I mean, at least you don’t have to perform at every ballet, right?”

“I guess. We swap out, so I’ll probably only do two or three a week. Still, that’s a lot.” Techno leans against the counter with a sigh.

“We still need to practice for the Butterfly Lovers, though,” Dream points out gently. “We can’t just waltz in there unprepared.”

“Yeah,” Techno sighs again. He runs a hand through his hair, wincing as it catches on a knot. He’d probably forgotten to brush it this morning again. “I have a rehearsal later today, but we can practice here tomorrow afternoon.”

“Sounds good!” Dream turns back to the pan. Using a pair of tongs, he places the four pieces of coated chicken in the pan. They begin to sizzle violently, and Techno jumps, startled.

“We want the chicken to be nice and golden, so we’ll cook them for a few minutes on each side,” Dream informs him. “And I should put on an apron. Can you grab that for me?”

Techno takes the black apron with “Kiss the Cook” imprinted on it off of the hook and, without thinking, puts the strap over Dream’s head. His hands brush against the blonde’s neck, sending a tingle up his fingers. He swears Dream shivers minutely, but when he speaks, his voice sounds normal. “Thanks, Techno.”

Techno swallows. F*ck . “You’re welcome,” he says, and his voice sounds way too gravelly. He clears it and hurriedly backs away a little. “Anythin’ else?”

“Nope! I’m just going to cut the mushrooms really quick. Probably should’ve done that before starting, but oh well.” Dream pulls out a cutting board and begins to chop mushrooms with the speed and confidence of a professional chef. Techno watches, like he always does. He feels like he shouldn’t be so mesmerized by such a simple task, but there’s just something about the way Dream does things, his hands just as quick and graceful with cooking as with piano- not that Techno has ever seen Dream play. It’s higher up on his list of top ten things he wants than he’s ever willing to admit.

At that moment, a realization hits him. This whole scene- Dream cooking lunch, Techno hovering over his shoulder and watching like the clueless peasant he is- is so strangely domestic. It’s the sort of scene he’d find in a sitcom, or maybe an exceptionally mushy romance novel. It’s not the sort of scene he ever imagined himself in. He’s always been a rather solitary person, and the idea of finding someone to settle down with, live with, has never seriously crossed his mind.

But here he is, in his neighbor’s kitchen, helping Dream make lunch. And the thing is, he’s enjoying himself- maybe a little too much. He likes watching Dream bustle around, likes the fondness in the pianist’s voice whenever he’s being absolutely clueless about cooking, likes (loves) the way Dream looks in his cheesy apron over the sweater vest and loose jeans. He wants to wrap his arms around Dream from behind and press his nose into those blonde curls and inhale; he wants-

Nope, nope, nope , he tells himself fiercely before he can get too tempted. Nope, I am not doin’ that . He’s not getting weird with his neighbor- never mind that his neighbor is so much more than a neighbor now, that Dream has already become one of the most important people in his life, that he might sort of (definitely) like the blonde in a not-so-platonic way.

The sound of sizzling slowly brings him out of his thoughts. He blinks once, twice, and realizes that while he’d been zoned out, Dream had started to cook the mushrooms in the pan, along with onions and garlic. Techno has never been a big fan of those last two, but he can’t deny that it smells amazing. The chicken is golden and oozing juices, and his stomach grumbles embarrassingly loudly.

Dream laughs. “Hungry?”

“Maybe,” Techno says, blushing. He flexes his fingers, wishing he had his violin so he could have something to do with his hands- anything to stop his arms from hanging so awkwardly at his sides, still tingling with desire.

“We’re getting close, don’t worry. I just need to make the sauce and cook some pasta to eat with the chicken.”

Techno’s fingers itch to wrap around Dream’s slender waist. He clasps his hands together behind his back. “Do you mind if I check out your piano?”

Dream gives him an amused look. “Why?”

“Uh… don’t worry about it.”

“Okay. Sure. Just be gentle with it.”

Techno backs out of the kitchen as fast as he can without looking suspicious. Once out of earshot, he takes a deep, shaky breath. God, he’s really messed up now. How is he going to be around Dream anymore without that temptation creeping up on him? How is he going to pretend that everything is normal when all he wants to do is touch , pull Dream into his arms, feel those slender fingers between his?

The memory of their hand comparison burns in his mind. Dream’s hand is so, so small. Techno could cradle it easily in his own. He could wrap his fingers all the way around Dream’s, could rest his palm on top of Dream’s hand and cover it completely. And god, he wants to. He wants to, and he’s not sure how much longer he can resist.

He sits down on the piano bench, staring at the keys but not really seeing them. With a creeping sense of dread, he realizes that he can’t deny it any longer. He’s in love with Dream. He’s in love with his neighbor, and how had it come to this? He’s concertmaster and a soloist- he doesn’t have time to be in love.

And yet. And yet over the past few weeks, he’s been slowly setting more and more time aside in his schedule to be with Dream. Before Dream, he would spend time outside of practicing and rehearsals and performances reading and generally living a solitary life. Now, those hours have been dedicated to trips to the bubble store with Dream, Netflix show marathons with Dream- Dream, Dream, Dream.

Techno wouldn’t go back to Before Dream if he was given the choice.

The piano swims before his vision. He stares at the keys, black and white, white and black. Emerald flashes through his mind, emerald like Dream’s eyes.

Curse all the gods. He’s in love.

He lets his gaze travel up and realizes that the book sitting on the piano is opened to Liebestraum. His heart jumps. How long ago had he asked Dream to practice Liebestraum for him? Only a week. Looking back, it had been such a stupid thing to say- Liebestraum, Love Dream. Only an idiot wouldn’t’ve made the connection. But if Dream had, the blonde hasn’t said anything, and really, Techno is just desperate to hear Dream playing a pretty piece like that.

As if on cue, the pianist comes into the living room and sits down on the bench next to Techno. “You okay?”

“Huh?” Techno blinks. “Oh, yeah. I’m fine. Just… thinkin’. I didn’t realize you were actually goin’ to practice Liebestraum.”

Dream shrugs. “I mean, why not? One more piece to add to my repertoire. I haven’t actually practiced it yet, but let’s see if I can sightread it.” He gently nudges Techno with his hip. “Scooch, you’re taking up too much space.”

Techno jumps up, allowing Dream to slide over to the middle of the bench. The blonde looks at the sheet music for a moment, then places his hands on the keys and starts to play. 

Mesmerizing. That’s the only word Techno can think of. The piece isn’t particularly fast, but there’s something about the way Dream’s fingers dance over the keys, as graceful and light as a ballerina leaping across the stage. His expression is a balance between calm and focused, his eyebrows furrowed slightly but his lips relaxed. As the music begins to intensify, Dream’s body begins to sway slightly along to the melody. It’s a beautiful piece, and the fact that Dream is the one at the keys only makes it better. Even a wrong note here and there doesn’t quite ruin it.

“Page,” Dream says after a minute or two. Techno leaps into action, reaching over and turning the page. He gapes at the new sheet,  wondering how the hell it’s humanly possible to play that , but Dream breezes through it, his fingers practically soaring across the keyboard. His eyebrows crunch together in concentration, and god, he’s beautiful. Techno would want to kiss him if not for still being too mesmerized by the blonde’s hands.

The music slows again, returning to the familiar melody at the start, and Dream’s expression returns to serenity. He hits the last chord gently and remains there, poised, allowing the notes to ring out. Finally he takes his fingers off of the piano and slumps. “I hate Liszt.”

Techno laughs, half of his mind appreciating the blunt honesty and the other half still caught up in Dream’s gorgeous playing. “I would imagine so, given your hand size. That sounded good, though.”

“Yeah, it did.” Dream flashes Techno a sweet smile that threatens to wrench Techno’s heart right out of his chest. “Thanks for turning the page.”

“Am I just a page turner for you now?”

“Only when I’m playing,” Dream replies, grinning.

Techno grins back despite himself. “That third page, though. I don’t understand how you can play that.”

“Same way you violinists play Paganini- using the five stages of grief.”

“Oof.” Techno winces. “That actually hits kinda close to home.”

Dream laughs, standing up from the piano bench. “Well, there’s my daily suffering out of the way. I’m gonna go finish lunch now.” He glances at Techno. “You coming?”

How can Techno deny? “Yeah. I’m comin’.”

They finish lunch- well, more like Dream finishes lunch while Techno hovers awkwardly around, not sure what to do. Finally, though, they each have a plate piled high with linguine and steaming chicken drizzled in a rich brown sauce. Techno takes a cautious nibble and decides that maybe onions aren’t so bad after all.

They eat together and split the cleanup duties, and then they sit on the couch and talk until Techno is forced to go to rehearsal. He reluctantly bids goodbye and slips next door to grab his violin.

When he gets back from rehearsal, Dream is practicing. It’s Tchaikovsky’s piano concerto for the blonde’s upcoming performance, not Liebestraum, but Techno still sits down on his couch to listen nonetheless. Steve pads over and rests his head on Techno’s lap, eyes wide in a silent plea for cuddles, and Techno sighs as he runs his fingers through his dog’s fur. “I’m an idiot, Steve,” he murmurs. “An absolute idiot.”

He falls asleep dreaming of graceful fingers and bottle green eyes.

---

The week passes in a blur. Techno goes back and forth between practicing for orchestra, rehearsals, and practicing with Dream for their performance. He always forgets how busy ballet season is, but now that it’s here, he really doesn’t miss the earlier months of the year.

The nice thing about ballets, though, is that they don’t make Techno as stressed as concerts and performances do. It’s still bad if he messes up, but at least the audience can’t see him (most of the time), and the focus is on the dancing more than the music. A lot of the ballets are repeated year after year as well, so it’s music he knows.

Performances, on the other hand, especially solos, always make him jittery in the days leading up. As the Butterfly Lovers performance date draws closer, he finds himself fidgeting and trying to do things to distract himself. The only thing that works is when Dream comes over the day before the performance and insists on making him some food and tea.

“You have to calm down, Techno,” the blonde says gently as he bustles around the kitchen, grabbing the teapot and tea leaves. “We’ll be fine. We’ve practiced a lot.”

“Trust me, if I could calm down, I would,” Techno says, not looking up from his sheet music despite the fact that he’s already memorized it. He plays through the beginning of the concerto again, hating how it had sounded so good a few days ago, but now he can see all the flaws in his playing. The vibrato needs to be better, and the bow needs to be heavier on the strings here, and -

“It’s not even going to be the only performance in the show,” Dream points out. “It’s just the opener, isn’t it? And then more people are going to play.”

“Yeah, well, my perfectionism doesn’t care.”

Dream sighs, only it’s fond instead of annoyed, and something inside Techno melts a little. He knows that if he were someone else, he’d be annoyed as hell with himself, but Dream only sounds mildly exasperated, and in an affectionate way. Really, the blonde is way too good for Techno.

“C’mon, Techno, put down your violin and come have some tea. We can practice after more after.”

Techno debates saying no, but in the end his heart wins over his rationality, and he joins Dream in the small dining room. Dream passes him a cup of tea, and he takes it gratefully, holding it to his lips and breathing in the sweet scent.

“Do you wanna hear a story?” Dream asks, and Techno realizes that for all his reassuring words, Dream must be just as anxious as him. The blonde’s hands are drumming furiously on the edge of the table, playing some Chopin nocturne or whatever, and his leg is bouncing up and down. But still he’d made Techno tea and is trying to help Techno’s performance nerves. It makes Techno feel warmer than the cup of tea.

“Sure,” he says. “I’d like that.”

Dream sips his tea, then launches into his story. “So you know how I teach students? Well, I had a student over yesterday for a lesson- that was the Bach you were hearing- and I was demonstrating a piece. But Patches apparently decided that she’d had enough of the piano, because she jumped up and sat on my hands so I couldn’t play. My student was laughing so hard.”

“How’d you get her off?” Techno asks.

“I kinda just pushed her off, but it was really funny.”

“Sometimes Steve-” Techno gently nudges his dog with his feet- “will sniff my rosin. I always get scared that he’s goin’ to eat it.”

“I saw cat shaped rosin once. It was really cute.”

The mention of rosin makes Techno’s mind wander back to the Butterfly Lovers concerto. It must’ve shown on his face, because Dream gently nudges his hand. “Hey. It’ll be fine. We’re epic musicians; we got this.”

Techno laughs despite himself. “Why are we epic?”

“I dunno. We just are. But we got this! It’ll sound really good.”

“I hope so,” Techno mumbles. “If I screw up I swear I will actually sink into the ground and never reemerge. I’ll decompose.”

“You’re so stupid,” Dream laughs. “I won’t let you decompose.”

“Why not?”

Dream looks at him for a moment, his emerald eyes unreadable. He has a spray of freckles on his cheeks like miniature galaxies, and Techno can’t believe he’d never really noticed that before. He can make out patterns on Dream’s freckles- shapes, constellations, musical notes. There’s a tiny one on the tip of Dream’s nose, and Techno suddenly, desperately wants to lean over and kiss it.

“Because I like you,” Dream says finally, his voice a little thicker than usual on the word ‘like’. “I don’t want you to decompose. Who will I get bubble tea with?”

Techno swallows, his heart doing all sorts of weird acrobatics in his chest. “Patches?” he suggests.

Dream’s peach-colored lips quirk up. “Patches can’t drink boba, idiot.”

“That’s a shame.” Techno sips his tea again to try and hide his burning cheeks. “Well, if you insist, I suppose I can try to refrain from decomposin’.”

“That would be nice. Hey, are you gonna wear that suit you wore during your Bruch performance?”

“Uh, probably,” Techno says uncertainly. “Why?”

“Just.” Dream looks away, his cheeks pink despite how cool it is in the apartment. “You look nice in it.”

“Oh.” Techno clears his throat, feeling flushed and awkward. “Thanks. What are you goin’ to wear?”

Dream looks back at Techno and smirks. “Take a guess.”

“A dress?”

“Yep. I also bought this butterfly hairclip and earring set to match the theme.”

“You know, the Butterfly Lovers concerto is based off of a Chinese legend of the same name,” Techno says. “It’s about this girl who’s in love with a boy, but he doesn’t know that she’s a girl because she’s disguised as a boy so she can go to school. I don’t remember all the details, but I think it ends with the boy dyin’ of heartbreak because the girl is betrothed to someone else, and she jumps into his grave, where they’re turned into butterflies.”

Dream is watching him, enraptured, eyes glimmering like shards of green glass that pierce right through Techno’s heart. He swallows, his hands suddenly shaky, a lump starting to swell in his throat. “You ever felt like that?” he croaks. “Ready to die just because the person you love is?”

“No,” Dream says after a moment. His voice is soft, his expression unreadable. “I haven’t. But I do know what it’s like to be in love with someone.”

Techno’s gut churns painfully. “Me too,” he whispers.

They sit in silence for a moment, their teas slowly cooling. Finally Dream says, “I’m going to go play a bit of piano, just to calm down. Do you want to come over as well? Maybe we can do a little extra practice too.”

Techno really should say no. Every second he spends with Dream, it seems, only makes him fall deeper and deeper into this ocean called love. And it’s not like loving Dream will do him any good, not like it’ll lead to anything other than heartbreak. But he’s a weak man, no stronger than anyone else in the face of love. So he nods.

He ends up sitting in Dream’s living room for hours, watching the blonde play Chopin and Beethoven and Satie and everything in between. Every note is coaxed out with the feather-light touch of graceful fingers, and the music is beautiful. It fills the room, soothes the dull new ache in Techno’s chest. When he closes his eyes, he can almost imagine that the Liebestraum Dream is playing is directed at him.

---

Performance nerves are the bane of Techno’s existence. Even after a few years making a living as a professional musician, he still hasn’t gotten over performance anxiety, and he hates the nerves he always gets. They take over his whole body, making him feel shaky and sometimes lightheaded. The butterflies in his stomach are more like a hurricane as he fidgets with his bow tie. He doesn’t know why this performance is making him so nervous, but it is, and he’d really quite like for that to stop.

He and Dream are backstage, waiting to go out to play. They’re the first performance of the night, which is both good and bad. The good thing about it is they can get it over with quickly; the bad thing is that Techno always hates going first. He feels like people always judge the first performance more harshly than any of the rest.

He glances at Dream, who looks unnervingly calm. His feet are, for once, still, and his hands are busy tracing lines on his sheet music. He looks painfully good tonight in a simple but pretty black dress and the butterfly accessories, and Techno almost wants to laugh. Leave it to Dream to defy gender norms during a concert while also rocking his outfit.

Maybe it’s the nerves rocking him to the core, but Techno can’t stand it any more; he blurts out, “You look really good.”

Dream blinks, looking startled, then flashes a sweet smile that makes Techno’s heart flutter. “Thanks. It’s not too fancy, is it?”

Techno shakes his head. “No, it just- looks really nice on you.”

“Well, thank you.” Dream smooths down his skirt and chews his lip. “God, I would kill for a flat surface right now. Or an actual piano.”

“I mean, you could use the wall,” Techno suggests, fingering the E string on his violin. He’d tuned before he got here, but now he feels the sudden, inexplicable urge to start tuning again. Nervous habits, he supposes.

“Hey, relax,” Dream says, nudging him gently. Their pinkies brush together, sending a jolt up Techno’s arm. “We’ve got this, yeah? This is no different from all the other hundreds of performances we’ve ever done.”

“Yeah,” Techno mutters. He knows mentally that that’s true, but his racing heart and fluttering stomach don’t seem to be getting the memo. Dream’s presence so close to him isn’t helping either. The blonde still smells citrusy, and Techno just wants to press his nose into those curls and breathe.

“I’m serious, Techno.” Dream is in front of him now, and despite the blonde’s short stature, he’s taking up Techno’s whole vision. His hair gleams gold; his eyes reflect the ceiling lights like tiny emerald lakes, except they’re not just emerald- they’re a million different shades of green, from jade to olive. Techno can see the variation now that he and Dream are closer, and it’s stunning. A million shards of fractured glass, a kaleidoscope of green. Techno feels breathless all over again, just like he had when he’d first met Dream.

“Just take a deep breath,” Dream whispers, his gaze fixed on Techno’s bow tie. He reaches up and fixes it, his fingers a hair’s breadth away from touching Techno’s chest. “It’ll be fine, I promise. We’ve practiced for this, and we’ll do fine. Okay?”

Their hands brush again. Techno doesn’t stop to think, he just grabs Dream’s hand and threads their fingers together. The realization of what he’d just done hits him instantly, but before he can drop Dream’s hand, the pianist grabs back and squeezes. His hand is slight and warm, his fingers slender and his palm sweaty. Techno is in love with holding it already.

He meets Dream’s gaze, their eyes locking, and something passes between them, something that tingles in the air. Techno doesn’t have time to dwell on it, though, because then the voice of the official (Techno doesn’t know his name or title) starts to ring out, introducing the audience to the concert. For Techno, it means one thing- his performance with Dream is about to begin.

“Well.” Dream drops Techno’s hand, and Techno can’t help but miss it already. The blonde takes a deep breath. “It’s time.”

“I hate time,” Techno mutters. The comment earns him a laugh from Dream, and the sound is so bright, so genuine, that the storm churning in Techno’s stomach eases a little, like sunshine breaking through the clouds. He takes a deep breath as well, and something in his mind seems to clear. Just another performance. Nothing different, except for the fact that he’s going to be doing it with Dream.

“We’ve got this,” Dream says again. Without warning, he hooks their pinkies together and gives a brief squeeze. The touch is as welcome as a breeze on a cool day, and Techno yearns to keep their pinkies locked. He settles instead on squeezing back and allowing Dream to drop their hands.

As soon as the introduction ends, they walk out onto the stage together. Dream takes his spot at the piano, and Techno takes a moment to appreciate just how gorgeous he looks- sitting there serenely, fingers already poised to play. 

Techno keeps that image and Dream’s reassuring words firmly planted in his mind as he steps up to the microphone and gives a brief overview on the background of the concerto. He makes sure to keep his voice steady, and as soon as his speech is over, he feels a rush of relief. Now that he has the speaking part out of the way, all he has to do is play.

He takes his position in the middle of the stage and makes eye contact with Dream. The blonde cocks an eyebrow slightly, and Techno nods, signaling to start.

Dream begins to play, a gentle melody. Techno listens to the intro, letting the notes flow over him. As it grows to a close, he lifts his violin to his chin and places his bow against the strings, ready to start playing.

The first note comes out easily and beautifully, like the first cut into a cake. From there, the rest flow from his fingers, and he zones out, letting muscle memory take over. It’s always easier that way- thinking about what he’s playing tends to make him mess up.

He’s not sure how long he plays for, and full awareness of his surroundings doesn’t return until the audience is clapping, and he realizes that the concerto ended. He quickly bows, vaguely aware of Dream standing up and doing the same behind him. He stays in position for a moment, allowing the audience to applaud, then turns and hurries off the stage as fast as he can without looking too eager to escape.

“Well, that was lovely,” Dream says as soon as they’re backstage. “Want to go get drunk? And by drunk I mean drunk on bubble tea.”

Techno laughs, feeling lighter than he has in a while- maybe because of the pressure of the performance now off of his shoulders, maybe because of Dream’s mere presence, like a soft beam of sunshine. Whatever the reason, he feels good, and there’s a bounce in his step as he heads over to where he’d put his violin case. “Sure, why not.”

“Yay.” Dream beams, bouncing slightly on the balls of his feet as Techno puts his violin away. It’s adorable, and Techno has to bite the inside of his cheek to stop himself from grinning like a smitten idiot. Not that he isn’t a smitten idiot.

They step outside into the parking lot together and are immediately assaulted by a blast of chilly air. Dream shivers violently, his thin dress likely doing nothing to keep him warm, and Techno frowns, worried. “You look cold.”

“Jeez, you think?” Dream says sarcastically. Techno laughs.

“Just pointin’ it out. You have a jacket?”

Dream makes a face. “No. I forgot. But I’ll be fine.”

“Dream, it’s, like, forty degrees. You will absolutely not be fine.”

“I’ll be fine.”

“Take my jacket,” Techno blurts without thinking. His hands move on their own, already starting to take off his gray suit jacket to offer it to Dream.

The blonde gives him a strange look. “What?”

Techno swallows, his cheeks feeling hot. He prays that Dream can’t see in the growing darkness of late afternoon. “I said take my jacket. I’ve got a long-sleeved shirt under, so I’ll be fine. You need it.”

Dream stares at the jacket for a moment. Then, slowly, he takes it and slips it on. Of course, it’s way too big on him, the sleeves going well past his hands and the hem reaching almost to his thighs, but it works well enough- and honestly, Techno would be lying if he said he didn’t like the way Dream is almost drowning in the fabric. He looks smaller than usual in Techno’s jacket, and it’s adorable.

“Thank you,” Dream murmurs, hugging the jacket closer to himself. He presses his nose into the collar and sniffs. “Your cologne smells good.”

“Oh. Thanks,” Techno says, flushing even more. He makes a mental note to buy more of the cologne he’d put on earlier. 

“So- bubble tea?” Dream asks.

“Oh. Yeah.”

They start walking, Techno strapping his violin to his back because he’s too lazy to loop around to his car and put it away. The nearest bubble tea shop is only a few blocks away, and twenty minutes later they both have cups of bubble tea in their hands.

“This one isn’t as good as our usual shop,” Dream muses as he chews a tapioca pearl. “But still decent.” 

“Yeah.” Techno sips his tea. They’ve arrived at another small park, similar to the one they’d been at after Techno’s Bruch performance. Techno sits down on a bench, and Dream sits next to him. 

“Did you know I used to do ballet?” Dream says after a moment. “I was even the Sugar Plum Fairy once when my dance studio put on The Nutcracker. It was cool.”

“Why’d you quit?” Techno asks, trying very hard not to think about Dream in a tutu, thin leggings hugging his lean thighs.

“We moved houses, and… I dunno. I guess I just wasn’t really interested in it anymore. I started enjoying piano more, so yeah. Ballet was cool, though. I made a lot of female friends, and it sort of lead to my gay awakening. There was this male ballerina  visitor who came to teach us, and he was really hot.”

Techno laughs. “Male ballerina, huh? Is that your type?”

“Nah. To be completely honest, my type-” Dream’s eyes flick to Techno- “is nerds. Hot nerds, preferably, but nerds.”

Techno’s heart leaps, his mind subconsciously conjuring up all the times people had called him a nerd. Dream’s eyes are fixed on his face, and it makes his mouth feel drier than a desert. “Nerds, huh?” he manages to croak out.

“Yeah. Nerds.” Dream’s gaze goes to the dark mass of trees in the distance. “What’s your type?”

You, Dream. You . But Techno doesn’t say that aloud. Instead he says, “Well, males, obviously. I guess I like nerds too. Someone who’s got a sense of humor and can deal with a little bit of bullyin’. Appearance-wise, I think I prefer a… softer look, I guess. Like, I’m not into super buff guys with twelve packs or whatever. I’d rather date someone… less buff.” Techno notices Dream laughing silently and scowls. “Listen, I don’t know how to describe it.”

“Mmm,” Dream says, his eyes twinkling with mirth. “What do you think’s the most attractive instrument?”

“That’s a sacreligious question,” Techno says, and Dream laughs. “But… I’d say piano.”

Dream’s eyes meet his again. “Violin.”

There’s a silence, a silence that hangs between them, thick with tension. Techno can’t stop his gaze from roaming over Dream’s face, drinking in every inch like a man starving- the soft smattering of freckles, the delicate blonde eyelashes, the peach lips. He wants to kiss those lips, wants to feel them against his own. He wants to take Dream’s slender waist in his hands and pull the blonde close and kiss him until neither of them can breathe, he wants-

He wants. But he can’t have. Not yet. Maybe not ever.

Techno forces his gaze away and busies himself with sipping his tea. Next to him, Dream begins to hum Liebestraum. His fingers tap tap tap , drumming rapidly against his leg, matching the rhythm of Techno’s heart.

The moon has started to rise, its silver light making Dream’s hair glow. Techno watches, that deep ache settling in his chest again. 

Liebestraum.

Love dream .

---

At the next orchestra rehearsal in preparation for ballet season, Techno finds out that Fruit, the first chair cellist, recently began dating a girl he’d been pining over. During the brief ten-minute break, he tells his and Techno’s circle of orchestra friends- mostly string players- about his girlfriend and the date they’d gone on. His eyes light up as he talks about her, and Techno wonders if he had looked the same way when he told Phil about Dream.

He wonders, too, what it would be like to be in Fruit’s shoes, to finally date someone he’d been pining over for so long. What would it be like to go on proper dates with Dream? What would it be like to put his arm around the blonde and kiss his forehead? What would it be like to be able to tell people that Dream is his boyfriend?

What would it take to find out?

When he gets home that night, he spends hours looking up websites and blog articles on how to tell if your crush likes you back. The results are a little mixed, but he takes the ones that seem the most plausible and scribbles them down on a notepad. Then he sits there and stares at the page, the words swimming before his vision.

They look at you . Dream does look at him a lot, but that doesn’t necessarily mean anything.

They always look for excuses to spend time with you . It’s not really excuses, but Dream is always asking Techno to go get tea or coffee, or suggesting a movie marathon, or insisting on coming over to cook for Techno.

They’re always willing to help you . Dream is always insisting on making Techno food (and Techno swears he is never going back to his takeout and frozen food only diet ever again), but again, that could just be because the blonde likes to cook for people. It doesn’t mean he likes Techno.

They remember important things about you . That one makes Techno pause. Dream does seem to have a good memory, better than Techno’s own. And now that Techno thinks about it, Dream does remember pretty much everything about him. There was one time where they went to get coffee, and Dream had remembered that Techno liked Berliners- a fact that he’d brought up exactly one time, and only in passing.

But does any of that really mean that Dream likes him back? The possibility seems too unrealistic to actually happen. And yet, there’s something stirring in Techno’s gut, something that tells him not to dismiss it.

He stares at the paper a little longer, then returns to his laptop and searches up “romantic violin pieces”. He feels extremely cheesy doing it, but he can’t think of anything else to do. It’s not like he’s good at romantic speeches; music has always been how he expresses himself. And Dream is a musician too, so it only makes sense.

He scrolls through several websites but ends up ignoring them and running through his own mental database of violin pieces instead. Finally one clicks- Salut d’Amour, by Elgar. Maybe a little basic and way too cheesy, but he can’t help but feel like it would fit. So he downloads the score and presses print.

The next week is a blur. He goes to rehearsals; he takes his violin to the luthier; he finds time when Dream is out of the building to practice Salut d’Amour. He practices it until he has the whole thing memorized, and then he sits down and stares at the score until the notes begin to blur before his eyes.

Dream’s performance of Tchaikovsky’s Piano Concerto no. 2 is in late November. Techno attends, of course, dressed in a nice button-up shirt and black slacks. He gets there early and watches, watches as Dream comes out on stage wearing another dress, watches as the blonde sits down and begins to play, watches the movement of his lithe fingers over the keys. He listens, too, and feels himself starting to fall in love all over again.

He’s forced to sit through several more performances after Dream’s, and though they’re certainly nice, he’s too distracted to pay much attention. His violin is in his car, waiting, and Salut d’Amour is at the front of his mind. He does the fingerings on his arm as he idly watches the pianists play, not really seeing or hearing them. The only thing he can focus on is the fact that as soon as the concert is over, he’s going to be playing Salut d’Amour for Dream and hopefully not getting rejected.

Techno still doesn’t know why he’d decided to do this. Statistically, the chances of Dream liking him back are only 50%, and those aren’t great odds. But it’s a worthy risk, isn’t it? A flip of a coin for the chance to do all the things he’s been yearning to do for weeks- pulling Dream into his arms, kissing him, inhaling the citrus scent of his curls from up close. Techno’s always been cautious, but this- this is a chance he’s willing to take.

He thinks about Dream’s pretty eyes to keep himself from chickening out as the concert ends and everyone applauds. He thinks about Dream’s cute laugh to keep his feet moving as he walks to his car and gets in. He thinks about Dream’s freckles, Dream’s fluffy curls, Dream’s everything, as he pulls out his phone and calls Dream.

The blonde picks up on the second ring. “Techno?” 

“Hi, Dream,” Techno says nervously. “You know that park we were at after my Bruch concerto? Can you meet me there?”

“Um, sure.” Dream sounds confused, but Techno can hear his footsteps starting to leave the building. “Why?”

“You’ll see. Just- meet me there, please.” Techno hangs up before he can freak out and buckles his seatbelt, his hands shaky as he puts them on the wheel.

He drives to the park and gets out, violin in hand. He only has to wait for a few minutes before he spots Dream’s car gliding down the street. It parks, and Dream gets out, still in his concert attire, but now with a jacket thrown over his shoulders. He hurries over. “Techno?”

“Hey,” Techno croaks out, and f*ck, this is not how he imagined this scene going in his mind. In his head, he’d started playing as soon as Dream came, and it would be romantic, like in the movies. Instead he’s standing here like an idiot, his arms hanging limply at his side, his bow dangling awkwardly.

“What’s wrong?” Dream asks, tilting his head. “Why do you have your violin? You’re not planning to busk right now, are you?”

“No, no, of course not. That would be awkward.” Techno takes a deep breath, trying to calm the butterflies zipping around in his stomach. He can feel the performance anxiety crawling over him, expect it’s strangely worse- which doesn’t make sense, considering his audience consists of only his neighbor, who’s heard him play countless of times. Then again, this isn’t a regular performance. This is him trying to confess his love, and if he screws it up…

He takes another deep breath. “I, um, wanted to play somethin’ for you.”

Dream’s eyebrows crunch together with confusion. “For me?” he repeats.

“Yeah.” Techno lifts his violin up, nestling the chin rest under his chin. He closes his eyes, trying to bring back his focus, and starts to play.

A strange noise leaves Dream’s mouth- probably the start to another question- but it dissipates quickly. In the new quiet, broken only by the sound of Techno’s violin, he finds himself forgetting that he’s even playing for someone. It makes him feel a little stronger, a little more confident, and as the piece starts to come to a close, he finds the courage to open his eyes and look at Dream.

The blonde is watching, mouth slightly open, eyes wide with shock. Techno plays the last note, his hand shaking with both vibrato and nerves, and it rings in the air before slowly rippling out of existence. He lowers his violin and bow, his heart thumping. With the piece over, he feels suddenly vulnerable again, suddenly exposed. Dream is right in front of him, so close Techno can smell his shampoo, and f*ck, what now?

“Techno,” Dream says, so quietly it’s almost a whisper. “Techno, what?”

Techno curls his fingers in. “I love you,” he blurts out. Dream’s eyes widen even more, but now that Techno has said the three most important words, the rest just flow out of him. “I love you, and I wasn’t sure how to tell you in words, so I decided to play that for you instead. I know it’s really cheesy, and I hate me for it too, but I just didn’t know what else to do.”

Dream stares for a moment, his expression still wide-eyed and startled. With every second that ticks by, Techno feels his confidence starting to slip. Is Dream going to punch him? Be so disgusted that he’ll run away and never come back?

Finally, just as Techno can’t take the silence anymore, Dream puts his hands on his hip. “Techno.” His tone is unreadable.

“Yes?” Techno all but squeaks.

“Go put your violin away.”

Techno refrains from nodding violently and dashes back to his car to put his violin away. When he returns, Dream is still there, hands still posed on his hips. “Come here,” he orders.

Obediently, Techno pads closer. “Um… please don’t kill me.”

Dream rolls his eyes. “I’m not going to kill you, you idiot,” he says, fondness seeping into his voice. Without warning, he throws his arms around Techno’s neck and kisses him.

It catches Techno off guard at first, and for a moment he just stands there, stiff, his arms frozen at his sides. But then it registers in his brain that Dream is kissing him , actually kissing him, and even though he’s never kissed anyone before in his life, his body somehow still knows what to do. His arms come to wrap around Dream’s waist, holding tight, and he tilts his head to allow for a better angle for their lips to slot together. Dream’s are soft and warm and a little moist, and Techno loves it.

“You,” Dream pants when they both separate for air, and Techno misses the feeling of Dream’s lips against his own immediately, “are the biggest nerd I have ever met. Why don’t you just confess your love with Greek myths while you’re at it?”

Techno can’t help but smirk. “Is that a challenge?”

Dream sighs. “Shut up and just kiss me again.”

“You were the one who kissed me, you know. But okay. Gladly.” Techno tightens his grip on Dream’s waist- he’s basically holding the blonde in the air at this point, and his arms are starting to ache a little, but he doesn’t care- and presses their lips together again. The kiss tastes a little sweet this time; he’s not sure why, but he does know that he never, ever wants to let go.

He’s still forced to pull away again for air, and he wishes, for the first time, that he was a wind player so he could have better lung capacity. He says it aloud, and Dream lets out a laugh. “You know, I’ve read articles that say that brass players are really good kissers.”

“Are they?”

“I don’t know. I’ve never kissed one. But I definitely like kissing you the best.” Dream’s feet touch the ground again, but his arms remain looped around Techno’s neck, and Techno thinks he would be perfectly happy to stay like this forever. 

His heart feels alive with joy, his whole body warmed by Dream’s presence in his arms. He kisses that freckle on the tip of the blonde’s nose like he’s been wanting to for so long and begs, “Be my boyfriend? I know I’m sh*t at bein’ romantic, but be my boyfriend anyways?”

Dream laughs affectionately. “Of course I’ll be your boyfriend, you massive idiot. Why do you think I kissed you?”

“Experimental data?” Techno suggests.

“You’re stupid,” Dream giggles. “How about we go back to your place and gather more data while watching a movie?”

“I like that plan,” Techno agrees, unable to stop the giddy smile from spreading over his face. He feels happy, happier than he can remember ever being, and his mind is singing Dream’s name as they walk back to their cars, Techno’s arm still around Dream’s waist.

During the ride home, he plays Salut d’Amour from the car speakers. It reminds him of warm lips against his, stealing the breath right out of his lungs.

He decides that maybe he has a new contender for his favorite violin piece of all time.