it’s become something of a habit for emery to walk up to the first floor of the apartment building and take the elevator from there to get up to his own floor. if asked, he might have said it’s simply for a little bit of exercise–a lame excuse considering the amount of walking he does around the city, but at least he’s never had to use it. the real reason is that he always hears piano music coming out of one of the apartments, and not just any piano music, either. it’s always classical pieces, and although there’s quite a lot of debussy emery usually hears drifting under the door, he knows he’s heard beethoven one or two times and it makes him feel inexplicably connected to the tenant even though he’s never even seen who lives there. until, of course, the day finally comes when the door opens as he’s passing by, and it’s not at all what emery had expected; it’s a boy, for one thing, and he’s cute enough that emery feels an instant blush light up his face. he could make a run for it, but for once in his life he doesn’t. “hi!” he practically yells instead, a little too loudly and with much too much force for a simple greeting. “sorry, i was just–i w-was listening to your…” he breaks off, takes a breath, and continues hurriedly, “the piano, you play a lot? you must really like debussy, beethoven’s my favorite and lizst is a close second but debussy is definitely up there in my top five.” a ringing silence follows his messy declarations and the warmth in his cheeks deepens. he wants suddenly to sink right into the floor. “sorry, i-i just…like classical piano a lot. um–i’m emery. i live on the f-f-fifth floor.” // @immcterial
there are only two things in avi’s life to which he applies discipline: his ballroom dancing and piano. he may have only been in his apartment at holloway for a little over a month but he’s had a grand piano set up for nearly just as long -- even having paid for an express move in company so that it arrived before a majority of his furniture. after all, who needs living room furniture when a piano bench works just as well? ( he has since acquired said furniture, of course, but his priorities were made clear. ) practicing happens daily, much to the chagrin -- he’s sure -- of his immediate neighbors. for how impassioned he plays some of the more fiery pieces, avi wouldn’t be surprised if his upstairs neighbors also had complaints; he should invest in some sound proofing. he’s just managed to squeeze a bit of practice in today before his time at the studio. stepping outside, keys in hand, avi very nearly walks straight into an unexpected blond seemingly idling in front of his apartment. it wouldn’t even take a full stride to carry avi around the stranger but he pauses which is, apparently, enough to uncork whatever sentiments this small person has bottled up. half stammering, half shouting, avi can’t help but be fascinated by the outburst. he waits a long beat, then another -- just to let emery squirm and to see if he can coax a deeper flush onto his cheeks -- before drawing in a breath to reply. “so you’ve been stalking me, then.” it’s delivered in a monotone, gaze deliberately narrowing before he drops the act, lest his nervous counterpart have a breakdown right then and there in his doorway. “i’m teasing, i’m teasing. promise. hopefully, my hammering at the keys doesn’t reach you all the way up on floor five though, emery. i’ve narrowly avoided noise complaints so far and i’ve only been here a month!” a smile replaces his feigned serious expression, dimples pocking his cheeks charmingly. “yes, i play. i’m presuming you do too?” then, he extends a hand politely towards emery’s still flushed figure. “avi. avi sinclair.”
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