Hjertet til en fiolin

Hans melodramatiske melodi

The tavern was suddenly filled with an enchanting melody, one that drowned out whatever it was that (Y/n) had been thinking about.

It was heavenly subtle with the occasional crescendo that reminded him of waves at low tide. He could almost hear undertones that sounded eerily like water lapping at a shoreline.

(Y/n) couldn't help but look up at the stage, watching this man he had never seen before skillfully run his bow over the strings of a beautifully carved violin. His eyes were closed as he played, probably feeling the music rather than thinking about it.

His hair, long and a bit unruly, was the color of a midnight sky. He looked... ethereal. (Y/n) couldn't tear his gaze away.

The last few notes of the melody were plucked from the strings, mimicking the sound of dripping water. The stranger bowed at the tavern goers enthusiastic applause before he opened his intense amber eyes.

(Y/n) could almost swear he was... staring at him. Without so much as a word, the stranger left, and the silence from before returned with a vengeance.

"Hey, who the hell was that?"

Of course, the old bastard just couldn't keep his mouth shut.

"I dunno, Richard... never seen him in town before."

Everyone else present agreed. Whoever he was, he wasn't from Ensborg.

(Y/n) sighed as he went back to nursing his drink.
_______________________________________

The streets of Ensborg were dark at night, cold and cruel as winter itself. (Y/n) was stumbling his way home, ready to pass out and do it all again tomorrow. Arthur only ever seemed to leave him alone if he was drunk, so he got drunk as often as possible.

Even someone like Arthur wouldn't dare touch an inebriated person. Of course, he wouldn't touch him without direct consent either. Arthur was no monster, even if (Y/n) wished he was.

If Arthur was just a little more monstrous, maybe he would be able to take his revenge and get the hell out of town like he wanted to. As it stood, Arthur was more of a coercive piece of shit than a direct rapist... he got what he wanted through false pretenses.

(Y/n) wouldn't fall for his lies anymore, but listening to his constant whining for sex was annoying as hell. At least he didn't have to hear any of it if he was absolutely hammered.

Honestly, (Y/n) couldn't believe that man-whore manbaby had fathered two children. It made him a little sick to his stomach... or maybe that was the alcohol in his system.

The moment (Y/n) entered the place he called home, he was happy to find Arthur gone. The older had probably decided to spend the night with his wife instead of pester (Y/n) for something he'd never give Arthur again.

(Y/n) stared in the bathroom mirror before bed, looking deep into his own eyes with contempt. He didn't want to admit it, but Richard was right.

(Y/n) was unemployed and spending the last of his father's savings, the very savings he had worked himself to death for so (Y/n) could have a better life, on booze. Both of his parents would be ashamed...