We've Got Magic to Do (Snowbaz AU)

Chapter Two

Baz

Webby gave me the violin one part, but even this can't snap me out of my blond-kid induced worry. Why would he want my papers? Why does he give a shit about me?

I think I liked it better when I assumed he'd just leave me alone after I knocked heads with him.

Sheet music (and still the chocolate muffin) in hand, I try to walk as calmly and quickly as possible to my seat in the audience. All the papers are gone. I check to see if the paper I threw at Grace is still there, and nothing. Still though, I feel reassured knowing that the heart paper is in my back pocket.

I put the muffin and my sheet music on top of my violin case and reach into my back pocket. It's empty. Frantically I check all my other pockets, and they're alarmingly all empty. Oh no. Oh no oh no oh no oh no.

I force myself to take a deep breath. Think, Basilton. It's possible that the really talented blond kid doesn't have your paper. Maybe a Good Samaritan saw the litter and decided to recycle it. I cling to the thought that maybe it's in the trash, even though it really isn't likely if Blondie was rooting around my seat for papers. Finn comes towards me, probably to watch the show from the front row with me, but I have something else in mind. I practically run past Finn.

"Oy, mate, where are you going?" He calls after me.

"To the lobby, I think I forgot something." The paper is in the trash, I tell myself. Either that or it fell out of my pocket when I bent over to write myself a name tag. It's in the lobby. Surely it's in the lobby.

I rip open the theater's double doors, rushing past the last few theater kids that are trickling back into the theater. The tables are still set up, though most of the snacks have been cleared away. There's a small, green plastic box marked with a white recycling symbol that sits just outside the supply closet. I look around to see if anyone's looking my way, then start sifting through the rubbish. There's not much, mostly a bunch of paper plates and some theater related papers. No crumpled up notes with hearts in the corners, though, unfortunately for me. I look around the red carpet. Nothing, not even a stray crumb in sight, but still I have a look under both the tables just in case.

I return to the theater empty handed, and find Finn sitting next to my chair.

"Find what you were looking for?"

"Nope."

"That's too bad."

And then we watch the rehearsal in silence. Ours is a very taciturn friendship. Finn's a good mate mostly, we met because of orchestra and tend to stick together every now and then. I can't honestly say that I know him that well.

I can't tell if that's because he's closed off or if that's because I try not to get too close to guys in case I am gay.

The rehearsal is good, though. The actors are stellar, excluding Gareth as Pippin. I still can't see what Mrs. Hagwood was thinking casting him there. I suppose he can sing, but not like the blond boy. No one can sing as well as the blond boy. Crowley, if I were just given an hour alone with him and my violin, the wonders we could do... I bet he's the sort of boy that knows the entirety of Hamilton by heart. Let's see, there's got to be some song from Hamilton that can be done with only a violin and a singer... Granted, a lot of the songs are raps so this might be a bit of a stretch. I think "Burn" has violin in it, but he probably doesn't have Phillipa Soo's range.

What a bloody shame. Now how are we going to do a duet?

All of the sudden my daydream is cut short by logic. How are we going to do a duet, Basilton? The music isn't the thing holding you back, love. How about the fact that you don't know him? Or what his name is? Besides that, you've got the problem that you have virtually no free time between orchestra and schoolwork. And even if you got to know him, if he was the one that took the heart letter it's bound to come up in conversation. That would certainly put a damper on any kind of relationship we could've had. I laugh at what I foolishly might've said to him. Probably something idiotic like, "Hey, blond kid! I don't know your name, but golly gosh your singing is swell! Wanna do a duet sometime? Who am I? Oh, just a lonely orchestra kid who doodled hearts all over a paper while thinking about you!"