ship; dnf
warnings; sexual implications, very light smut, mentions of violence
In which Clay (Dream) attends a prestigious private School of the Arts upon a scholarship for his ability to play the Violin, and one evening a Principal Dancer catches his attention.
**a shorter one :)
-
Unlike usual nights, Clay's practice room is not empty.
Usually, Clay seeks out his practice room for not only time alone, but to practice (if he hadn't already perfected it) what he does best.
Play the Violin.
Clay was every violinist's dream.
He was Concertmaster of his school's orchestra, known for his ability to play the Violin. He was known for his ability to spill emotion into a bland piece, to snap the strings of his prized Violin, to play the wrong notes on purpose, his reputation of leaving a crowd of people speechless.
He wallowed in the way people clapped after his performances. He loathed in the way he was practically being paid to play the Violin for his University. He envied the fact nobody, nobody could even come close to his ability.
Nobody purposely played the wrong notes. Nobody had the ability to leave an auditorium of people, complete strangers, speechless with nothing to do but clap. Nobody could afford to snap strings, to smash a Violin to pieces when it is not played to near perfection.
Yet Clay could.
Clay could do anything, it seemed. He was well respected. He was Concertmaster. Nobody could come above him, and he would not—never settle for a lesser title.
And unlike usual nights, Clay's practice room is not empty.
Tonight, he allows his Conductor to sit affront of him, eyes wide as he listens to Clay use the bow of his Violin to play the wrong notes, biting his lip as he does so.
His Conductor winces.
Clay is intelligent, he thinks. Clay is sophisticated. Clay is talented. It's abnormal, his ability to play the Violin.
It strikes his heart to see Clay play the wrong notes purposely. It rips him to pieces as he watches Clay's eyebrows furrow as he bites down on his tongue, the hair of his bow dragging against his Violin's strings in a non-God honoring way.
His jaw clenches as strings snap, Second one this month, he thinks.
A Violin is not a precious, cherished item to Clay. It isn't the Violin that matters. It's his ability to play. Clay could make a fifty-dollar Violin sound like one made of thousands of dollars. Violins we're materialistic, Clay thought. A price could never be placed on talent, though.
"You've done it again." his Conductor speaks, standing up from his chair.
Clay looks down on him. "Is that not what makes my gift more unique?"
Clay was undoubtedly gifted. He was undoubtedly the most talented student to step foot in his University.
"It is." his Conductor says as he watches Clay drag his feet as he lays his Violin strings to rest in the trash bin. The bow is next, after Clay surges his knee upwards, snapping it in half over his thigh. "It just hurts to see another Violin go to waste."
"Waste?" Clay snaps, watching as his Conductor slouches.
"That is not what I—"
"I understand what you meant." Clay speaks, watching as his Violin strings rest in the bin. "I should be more delicate with them, you think?"
