Chapter Text
The caged bird sings with a fearful trill, of things unknown, but longed for still, and his tune is heard on the distant hill, for the caged bird sings of freedom.
Maya Angelou
Had the boy behind the piano looked up, he would have seen absinthe green eyes peering in through the tiny window on the practice room door. He would have seen how hands kept yanking the face away; grabbing for hair, a throat, whatever could be reached, only for it to reappear to gawk again.
But he never looked up. He kept his eyes closed and played on.
The boy staring through the window reaches up a hand to knock, wanting to draw the pianist’s attention, only to have his hand swatted away by a student, as another grabs and holds his wrist, tugging futilely as they try to move his tall frame. He easily shakes himself free, planting his feet and looking back into the room where the most beautiful piano music he’s ever heard in his eighteen years of life is coming from.
The sounds come from a baby grand piano wedged into the small space. Hardly a musician, the observer still knows the sounds are muffled, filtering through old and failing soundproofing. The organ he’d heard in his childhood church was much louder, always echoing through the massive sanctuary.
This music is far more upbeat than what he would hear on a Sunday. It's a sharp stabbing of keys, surprisingly evocative, filling his mind with memories of summers at the beach, winters in the mountains, holidays with his family. The chatter in the hall mirrors the warmth behind his breastbone. Save for the frowns upon the faces of those who keep trying to tug him away.
He persists, though; desperate to see more detail of the boy behind the keys.
“Who is he?” he asks, swatting away the grabbing hands yet again, and turning to drop his hands onto one student’s shoulders, engulfing them, “I must know.”
“Why should we tell you, dancer ?” one student spits, the last word coming out like it should have been a slur, as they yanked him back, attempting to pin his too-tall form to a wall.
“My name is Axel Van der Aart,” he spits back, shoving the student away.
“No one cares about your family name here,” another student hisses. “You could be some world-famous dancer, for all we care. You’re with the Saltare. You don’t deserve to even look at Roxas.”
Axel snorts, shoving by him. “Go away.”
It is by no means the proper way to get a name, but…
Roxas.
The more that Roxas plays, the more Axel watches, and the more he swears he's fallen in love with someone he’s never spoken to.
Despite the academy being a place for higher education, Roxas barely looks sixteen, with a face as smooth as if he’s never needed a razor in his life; unlike Axel who has a scab on the right side of his jaw from the straight razor he’d used that morning to scrape away his auburn stubble.
Roxas also has sun-kissed skin, for all that the campus lives under near-constant cloud cover, if not a perpetual drizzling mist. Mayhap he isn’t local and comes from a far off seaside town. That would explain why Axel has never heard a name like his. Someone so small and so talented would have been memorable, news would have reached his family, what with their interests and funding into the arts. And Roxas is a tiny talent; dwarfed behind the baby grand, but no less dexterous than any other pianist, if Axel is to judge from the quick sounds pouring out from the room.
With the glimpses afforded him, Axel concludes that Roxas himself is beautiful; his dazzling face, with a myriad of emotions flying across it, changing by the second. His mess of honey-colored hair is a whirlwind of fluffy bedhead with a section hanging down into his eyes, swaying across his brow with his every dramatic movement. He wears not the standard issued uniform but a navy turtleneck, stretching high onto his neck as if trying to cover as much skin as possible. The whole style lends an almost mad air to him.
The old buildings don’t have heating and the atmosphere is damp and oppressive. Yet, it's eerily cool for the early fall months, and unlike Roxas most in the hall wear their jackets. School issued ones with lapels, a crest over the breast, and gleaming silver buttons, meant to be buttoned over their soft blue dress shirts. This late in the afternoon, though, most of the students are lax as they hang out, and have their jacket buttons and ties undone.
He wants to ask Roxas what happened to his clothes and raises a hand to knock, only to once again be bodily shoved away by a collective effort.
“Go away, dancer boy!” someone shouts.
“No! I go to this school as well,” Axel yells right back. “I have every right to be here.” But he knows deep down he doesn’t belong in the hall among the Musica with their lovely voices and fancy instruments.
He isn’t sure what he had been thinking, following his partn— no, his good friend Demyx back to the music building to pick up whatever weird instrument he’s trying out for the week before they head back to Axel’s dorm for… what? Well, he isn't sure. Snuggling? Talking? Homework?
Probably all of those, honestly. Reconnecting with Demyx shortly before the start of the semester has proven worthwhile.
Within days of settling into their dorms, they'd taken up meals in each other's rooms to catch up on their years apart and had fallen right back into the way things had been when they were kids. Axel had thought nothing of it when Demyx had sat beside him on the bed and leaned into his side. No, he'd wrapped his arms around Demyx's shoulders when the man had sighed wistfully, lamenting on how much he missed being away from home.
And three days later, after Demyx had spent the night in his bed, they'd had a long talk the following morning.
Demyx had planted a kiss on Axel's cheek, asked if he wished to court.
Hoping that he wasn't about to ruin their rediscovered friendship, Axel had explained that although he loved Demyx, it wasn't in the way it seemed to have been interpreted. Demyx had... breathed a sigh of relief, before following up that he, too, loved Axel, but wished for nothing more than their current arrangement, saying that he'd only asked because it seemed the proper thing to do after they'd fallen asleep wrapped in each other's arms.
From there, they'd come to the conclusion that they didn't have to stop visiting with each other. Nor did they have to quit cuddling, because honestly, Axel is missing human touch as well. Besides, it's technically not breaking the rules to be sleeping in the same bed now and again if they aren't courting, or so they'd agreed with cheeky smiles and nose rubs.
Now, between their cuddling, Demyx brings over various instruments and practices while Axel dances for him.
It's a reminder that music isn’t Axel’s gift. He can’t play any sort of instrument, despite Demyx telling him over and over that if he simply applies himself, his fingers are entirely nimble enough. However, Axel laughs at the idea of himself being a Musica. His parents would disown him if he dared push aside his talent, especially after all the money they’d invested in him.
So, why has he followed Demyx to the hall in the first place? Why insist that the man let him tag along for once? Curiosity? Boredom?
Whatever it is, it's left him an out-of-place dancer standing there in his tight leotard and leggings, hugging Demyx’s blazer around himself to stave off the cold whenever he isn’t batting away the other students' hands. But despite the warmth, a shiver goes up his spine when Roxas’s music shifts and the happy staccato trails off into another song.
Where the previous song had been full of warmth and life, this new one drips melancholy. The shift of mood in the hallway is palpable, voices falling hushed, and Axel can’t help but sneak another look through the window.
The blond is hunched over the keys, face screwed up, and when he throws his head back, the song swells into a mournful crescendo, tears well up in Axel’s eyes at the sight of his pained expression.
Roxas is an angel at that moment.
Axel doesn’t realize he's staring, that no one has pulled him away, until the song clatters to a cacophonous halt. Hands finally rip him away from the window, but not before Axel gets a good look at the bright and vibrant cobalt blue eyes—not looking, but glaring —as if Axel was the foulest thing he’d ever set his sights upon. Yet at that moment, Roxas, with his eyes glowing full of fire, is the most beautiful person Axel has ever seen in his life.
He's shoved at by Demyx, a flurry of angry chatter surrounding them. Axel hears none of it, thoughts firmly on cobalt blue as Demyx leads him towards the door, but not before one last angry Musica catches him by the lapels of his borrowed jacket. The student hauls Axel over to spit at him, “Don’t you ever show your face in this hall again, Saltare.”
Another group effort shoves them out the door and into the drizzle, and Axel stumbles over his hastily thrown-on dress shoes, unused to the clunky things.
The entire way back to the Saltare dorms, Axel muses over what he’s seen.
Roxas has to be an angel. Nothing else could explain the way that Roxas’s music appeared to pour straight from his soul through his fingers as he’d played the second song.
“Sorry about that, Ax. Musica typically aren’t that… violent,” Demyx says, startling Axel from his thoughts as they bump arms on their walk. “I forget that we don’t usually make friends with Saltare. ”
“Why not?”
“It’s been a ‘feud’ for decades. Centuries, maybe.”
“So, why are we friends?”
“Because we grew up together, you fool.” Demyx grins up at him. “Like I’m going to dump you because you grew mile-long Saltare legs.”
‘Saltare’ doesn’t sound like an insult when Demyx says it, so Axel reaches over and brushes their fingers together as they walk side by side. "So, what's the deal with the Musica then?"
Demyx chuckles. "I guess I should have warned you before your first week, huh?"
"Mayhap a word or two would have been nice. I thought I was going to die! Ripped apart by bows or flutes… or sung to death. Something." Axel shudders. "It was horrifying!"
"Sung to death? Come now, it wasn't that awful! They would have only tossed you from the building once they got good hold of your scrawny self. I am sorry that it slipped my mind; I should have had you change out of your leotard, or at the very least cover up with your uniform."
"I'm still alive and in one piece," Axel waves a hand, "All is forgiven. I'd rather know more about this feud."
"Hmm… think Romeo and Juliet." They pause underneath a large tree as the rain picks up.
"Truly?"
"God, no!" Demyx laughs. “I told you; it’s a feud that's been going on for ages. The origins stem from Saltare being convinced that Musica show bias towards Drama. That they favor their performances over playing for various dancers. And in response to their 'immature behavior,'" Demyx completes the phrase with an eye roll and air quotes, "Musica therefore actively boycotted performing for Saltare. Of course Saltare fired right back, saying they didn't want mediocre players anyway… and you should be able to see where it went from there."
"I can imagine," Axel scoffs, tugging Demyx from beneath cover and back into the mists. "Come, I thought you said you were starving."
"For the food here? Always."
Once moving again, Axel asks, "So then, what was done for the squabbling?"
"As of the most recent incidents, staff got involved. Needless to say, if any Musica intentionally sabotages a Saltare performance, or if any Saltare is caught tampering with a Musica's instrument or trying to harm their voice, it's instant suspension or possible expulsion, depending on the severity."
"Jesus," Axel mutters, head whipping over. "You're kidding?"
"Not at all. Four students were suspended, and one expelled last year alone for sabotage, along with two more suspensions for fisticuffs."
"So if this feud is still going, us being friends is kind of… controversial?"
"Friends?" Demyx chuckles, pulling Axel to a stop. "Is that what you call sneaking into my bed?"
"Hey," Axel shrugs, "We both know I don't wish to court at this time. We don't even kiss, need I remind you."
"True, sometimes all a man needs is a little snuggling." Demyx leans into him, and Axel wraps his arms around the shorter man. "And though you're all limb, you're not awful at it."
"I feel as if I should be insulted." Axel leans down, pressing his face to Demyx's fluffy hair. "But how can I be upset at my dearest friend?"
"Exactly," Demyx pulls away and links their hands together as they walk on down the pathway.
"So then…"
"Oh dear," Demyx sighs.
"I was just wondering…"
"As you do, Axel dearest."
"What's Roxas's story?"
"Oh, that's—" Demyx yanks his hand away, whirling and catching Axel by his shoulders. "Did you say Roxas?"
"Yes?"
"Axel… What have you done now?" Demyx sighs.
"You saw me."
"I saw you getting yanked away from a practice… room. Oh. Oh, no." Demyx tugs at his hair. "That was piano music I heard. He knows he's supposed to play in the rooms with the newer soundproofing…" He lets out a loud sigh, turning as if to head back towards the Musica building. "I have to report back to our instructor…"
"Demyx?" Axel catches his hand, tugging him back.
Demyx looks up at him, raising an eyebrow before shaking his head. "Forget him, Axel. Try not to think about it too much."
"Why? It's just music." The most hauntingly beautiful music he'd ever heard…
"He's… well. I'll just say that he's trouble. He's violent, angry; prone to verbally lashing out."
"Sounds like a virtuoso," Axel chuckles, knowing well that sounds nothing like the friend across from him. "Come now. Let's go get that lunch, and you can tell me more about Roxas."
"Axel, stop. I'm only going to tell you one thing. Forget. Him."
"But…"
"Look, I can see that you're infatuated, and—"
"Am not!"
"Are too!" Demyx argues back. "Listen to me. You don't love him."
"And you don't know me!"
Their voices have grown louder as they bicker, drawing the attention of passersby. They both fall hushed for a moment, shooing off the onlookers with hard looks and a wave of Axel's hand.
"I'd like to think I know you, Axel," Demyx continues, voice hushed, "We were childhood friends."
"Until I lost all my free time to dance," Axel snorts, crossing his arms over his chest.
"Either way, I believe I know you. You've hardly changed in ten or so years." Axel starts to argue, but Demyx merely holds up a hand with a sharp glare. "Let me finish. You don't love him; it's his music."
"You talk like this has happened to others."
"Many, many times last year…" Demyx shakes his head, hand falling back to his side. "I've lost count of the times I've seen him turn someone down. He doesn't court. Many of us have heard him threatening violence to those who dare touch him, be it Musica or any of the other classes."
"Touch? Why? Surely it's not friendly gestures, as well?"
Demyx sighs, reaching out to take Axel's hand once more, and pulling him once more towards the cafeteria. "You're not going to let this lie, are you?"
"Absolutely not!" Axel declares, receiving another eye roll from Demyx.
"No one knows. Not even those in his piano lessons do. All we know is that he turned up around a year ago. He's a savant here on a full sponsorship."
"So if he's such an awful person, why did everyone keep yanking me away? Why defend someone like that?"
"Because, he's got this… uncanny way of getting under peoples' skin."
"What?" Axel laughs, pulling away long enough to open the door for Demyx. "Like some… piano playing siren or something?"
Demyx doesn't turn back to answer, so Axel follows him into the cafeteria, ignoring the strange and dirty looks they get from Musica and Saltare alike as they make their way to the serving line.
"Dem?"
"Musica has a strict privacy policy. Roxas could have left that door wide open, and not one person would have peered in, let alone tried to disturb another man during his practice time."
"And there I was… gawking at him through a window."
"Like a creep."
"Absolutely not!"
"I watched as you swatted away hands. You shoved at least one person to the side to peer back into that little window."
"Well, mayhap it was a little much…"
"A little…" Demyx whispers, rolling his eyes as they take their food and sit in the in-between of all the groups.
"I couldn't help it," Axel whispers back as he stirs around his salad. "His music… his looks… they—"
"Drew you in. I know. They do the same to everyone new at first. Trust me, though. Get over him."
"But—"
"Ax. Dear, I know you're used to getting whatever your heart desires as long as you dance for your parents… but once more. Trust me. Don't."
Yet all Axel can think of as Demyx nearly inhales his food is beautiful, glowing, blue eyes. And the questions that Demyx has avoided.