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prompt: the recent move to paris and the unnecessary need for a fresh start heavy on your mind, you decide to play your piano for a peace of mind-unknowingly wrangling in a stray cat.
warnings: none
notes: imagine those digital pianos you'd see in your school's music room! also, if anyone can snuff out the reference towards the end, you're my bsf now <3
edited: 12/18 words: 1026
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Thursday, 11:24 a.m.
The moon shines its brightest this time around, lighting a path of guidance and serenity, stars swimming amongst the sky. Yet, you still lay weary in bed, room unpacked with a whirling mind-well, all except your piano. It was the only thing you deemed important enough to be out and about.
It sat in front of your balcony, bathing in the wondrous moonlight that shines into your room, curtains rhythmically dancing with the wind, beckoning you to play a piece or two to calm your running mind.
And why shouldn't you? It was the only thing that could quiet the noise going on in your head. With the scenery, the mood, it would be such a waste if you just laid in bed and do nothing. Besides, it's not like you'll be sleeping anytime soon, considering how different Paris' time zone is from (home country/town).
That's all the self-coaxing you needed as you took your rightful seat at your piano, placing your loving journal on its stand. Its pages were littered with all types of markings: lines, shapes, scribble of lyrics, music notes. They were bold and written messy, the pages roughed up from constant erasing.
You flip to a certain page in the journal, finding an unfinished piece that was started quite awhile ago. It was started three months ago; maybe, but with recent events and the move weighing on you, your creativity has dampened quite a bit and was unfit to finish it up.
Now seems more than fitting to finish it up, your fingers dancing across the keys in a fluid manner; but atlas, even now you couldn't push anything creative out. You were stumped.
How could you create music under these conditions when all you were able to think about is your new environment?! Not only will you be attending a high status school, but you'll have to make friends with high status students. It's going to be a nightmare.
You whine out, allowing yourself to fall forward, cringing at the cries of the keys under your weight-your arms resting upon them with your head nestled in between them.
"Well. . . That certainly was something."
You shoot out of your bench seat, launching it backwards as you stared wide-eyed at the black-cladded male comically 'banging the horrid notes' out of his ear. "You're-"
"Chat Noir, at your service." The masked hero introduces himself, the black cat politely bowing. "Sorry to intrude, m'lady, but this curious cat couldn't help himself from following the music." He grins, leaning on his weapon. "It was pretty good! The ending needs a little work, though."
You laugh in disbelief, allowing yourself to relax once you realize it's one of Paris' hero's you've read up on. It's quite bizarre, their background story and how they came to be. You almost want to ask him questions, but you'll leave that up for next time-if there'll be a next time.
"Thank you? It's a work in progress. I haven't been able to finish it." You admitted, looking to your journal with a hint of sadness.
All your life, you were told by many how musically talented you were. It was no shocker, really, considering your parents are both famous pianist. It was only natural you would follow in their footsteps and become something great, but now you're worried you're burned out and lost your mojo for good!
Chat Noir noticed your tumoil and how tired you looked both creatively and physically. "Y'know, I play a little bit of the piano, myself." He says coolly, leaning against your balcony's railing.
"You do?" You raise a brown in interest, crossing your arms as you watched him twirl his staff around, attempting to come off as aloof.
The hero nods, a smirk playing onto his lips as he spots the little interest you have in his statement. "Maybe just as good as you. I could finish your piece for you."
You were shocked, to say the least. You had only met the guy a few minutes ago, and he's already offering his expertise. You probably shouldn't be surprised, considering his profession, but it was an interesting offer. The answer is most likely a yes, but not after you have you poke of fun.
"Are you saying I'm not good enough to finish my pierce on my own?" You voice your faux offense, almost losing it as you watched the cat fumble with his staff, trying his best not to drop it as he tried to explain himself. "No! No, that's not why I'm saying!" He frantically says, waving his hands around. "From what I heard, you're very talented! I would never insinuate-" his ears twitch at the sound of a snicker, realizing you were only joking, "you're playing me." He sighs out, a chuckle of his own escaping.
You smile, shrugging. "Yeah, but I appreciate the compliment." Finally taking a seat, you pat the empty spot next to you, a sign that you accepted Chat Noir's offer.
He smiles big, prancing into your room with a stride as he purposely takes a seat closer than needed to be, rubbing shoulders with yours as he wiggled in place. "Am I gonna regret this?" You sigh out, opening your journal to the unfinished piece.
"Doubting me already, m'lady?" Chat pouts, ears deflating as he gave you puppy-dog eyes. Ironic. "Just want to make sure I know who I'm working with. Got any references?" You joked, the corner of your lips quirking up into an amused smile.
"Trust me, I'm the best candidate for this job!" He smirks, stealing the pencil out of your hand as he pulls the journal closer to him. "Now, let's see what we're working with."
