choliszt fanfic (on AO3 too) đ
Franz Lisztâs day began with a loving breakfast made by his mother, Anna Liszt, followed shortly after with intense practicing on the piano. Back in Hungary he wouldâve had his music theory, composition, and technical lessons each with different teachers, but of course he found himself too mature for that and convinced his mother that her money was better spent on buying dresses for herself to wear here in Paris. Furious scales of every kind could be heard through the thin walls: chromatic, major, minor, groupings of four, parallel motion, contrary motion, and of course, his famed octaves. He hammered at the keys so loudly that he could not hear the first knock on his door at all. He couldnât even hear the door unlock and only until he saw a faint familiar silhouette approaching him through his peripheral did he realize someone entered and that very person was Fryderyc.
Franz kissed his friendâs cheek with vigor. The Pole responded with one short laugh. A laugh can mean many things. Was it the sort of giggle that a school girl couldnât help but let out? A scoff of mockery in response to Franzâs overly affectionate action? Or maybe the laughter was caused by his own self-depreciation, coming to fruition because of the feeling of joy and hope that filled Fryc's mind after feeling the warmth of Franz's lips on his cheek?
âI am so glad that you are here! You know, I was beginning to feel lonely todayâŠâ
âOnly today?â Thought Fryc silently. To feel lonely only for one day is a privilege.
Liszt continued blabbering, âI always try to keep myself entertained and that usually involves socialisation with others.â
âI see.â A brief jealous thought flashed through Fryderykâs mind before he quickly batted it away. As he predicted, Lisztâs mother did in fact bring out cookies and tea. He nodded in thanks as well as affirming his gratitude verbally. Franz turned towards her and although she and Fryderyk had already met, he felt the need to restate his absolute friendship and comradery with him to her.
âThis man is an absolute genius! I love him!â
âFranz, your mother and I have met alreadyâŠâ
âYes, yes, but you are just so amazing.â
âYou speak about me with such assurance, but truly, I am no genius.â These words Fryderyk kept from saying aloud. Instead, he chose the easy path and simply smiled and laughed. âFranz, you are the true worthy musician here. I am nothing much at all.â
Naturally, Franz could not hear this entire internal monologue; thus, there followed a brief moment in which both men simply gazed at one another intently. All this unfolded before the eyes of Madame Liszt, who observed them with curiosity, likely finding the entire scene rather peculiar. Soon, however, she stepped aside and returned to the tasks she had been attending to earlier in the kitchen.
The men now had the drawing room entirely to themselves. Franz raised his eyebrows and, with a gesture of his hand, led Fryc to the piano bench.
âOh, that face of yours with the lifted brow. How casual and fleeting of an expression, yet it clings to me so powerfully! Do all women feel like this when they see a man to whom they are attracted? Well, I simply admire you⊠thatâs all.â
Franz was keenly aware that, as he maturedâever since the days of his early youthâhe had blossomed into a truly charming young man. He never hesitated to showcase his looks: whether through the way he dressed, the way he leaned against walls, or the way he gazed into space in that manner so uniquely his own. The first unequivocal confirmation of his newfound handsomeness arrived when a rising Parisian artist requested the opportunity to paint M. Lisztâs portrait. From that moment on, many others followed suit, and soon the Hungarian became a subject of popularity.
Fryderyk took his seat on the bench of the Ărard grand. He played a few improvised figurations, listening intently to the roomâs acoustics and the nature of the instrument. It was not the first time he had played this particular piano, yet every pianist enjoys testing the sound in this manner. Fryderyk preferred Pleyel pianos, but for some reason, he adored the Ărard belonging to Franz. He looked up at Franz with an expression that, had a gossip columnist been present, would have been described as a gaze filled with longing. Franz instantaneously recognized that face, one he had seen on Fryc countless times before, and sat down right beside him on the bench. Without exchanging a single word, they began to play improvised melodic lines which, contrary all likelihood, never seemed to clash.
None of it was virtuosic, or at least not for the first few minutes. The experience was magical, suspended, light. Exactly how Fryderyk preferred it. The music then took on a faster tempo, almost Asiatic character, perhaps stemming from Franzâs exotic Hungarian modes. Fryderyk took his seat to Franzâs right, positioning himself in the instrumentâs treble register. Their arrangement perfectly suited their temperaments and playing style. The nimble fingers of the more diffident of the two men drew forth a more feminine, delicate sound, while the pianoâs bass was brought to life by the vivacious personality of the other.
âWe sound quite good together,â the blond man remarked, a faint smile playing upon his face.
guys i'm literally tweakingggg i hvae finales but i am doing thisss 0:) the decisions we make!!!
