@holy-shit-its-wolfstar so like, this can barely be considered a birthday gift anymore because it’s taken me so long to rewrite it, so let’s just call it... a token of my endless love and appreciation for you. hope you like it :)
“Can I show you one more thing before we go?” Willow asks.
We’re at an arts festival in Boston, not far from Willow’s apartment. Willow goes every year, and this year it happened to fall on my birthday, so we elected to do this instead of a party. It’s a million times better, in my opinion.
“Sure. What is it?” I ask, walking just behind Willow.
Willow glances over at me with a mischievous smile. “A surprise.”
“I still don’t like surprises, Willow,” I mutter, cocking an eyebrow at her.
Willow laughs and squeezes my hand. “You’ll like this one. Come on, we’re almost there.”
She tugs at my arm, breaking into an almost-run to get to whatever this final surprise is. I let out a huff of a laugh and follow her, running to keep up with her longer strides. Willow flashes me a grin and slows down after a minute.
“Right here,” she whispers, her cheeks flushing. She gestures to a piano sitting amongst a curtain of cherry blossom trees and a wide assortment of flowers.
The piano is painted with a messy mix of yellows and greens and pinks, chipping in random places, the words ‘play me’ written in large letters across the front. There are hundreds of signatures all over, overlapping each other, from everyone who’s played this piano. I smile at Willow, my eyebrows shooting up.
“Has this always been here?” I ask, my eyes fixed on the messy and unique piano. We come to this park all the time, but I’ve never noticed this.
“Yep,” Willow says cheerfully. She sits at the edge of the bench and taps a couple keys. “For, like, a decade. I used to practice on it all the time before I could afford my own.”
She gestures for me to sit beside her on the bench. I sit down at the edge, my hands folded in my lap. Willow reaches into her bag, and pulls out her yellow binder full of sheet music.
“I want to play you something,” Willow whispers, her voice suddenly switched from cheerful and excited to nervous. “I’ve been working on it for a while. It still needs some revisions, but… I wanted to play it for you today.”
I kiss Willow’s temple, and she relaxes slightly, smiling softly. “Let’s hear it, then. Serenade me,” I say, grinning against her hair.
Willow flicks to the very end of the binder and props it up above the keys. I immediately notice something different about the sheet music-- it’s all handwritten. The staff lines are shaky and uneven, and some of the notes end in Willow’s signature whimsical little swirls. The title at the top just says For Lyra.
Willow’s hands hover over the keys like she’s considering backing out. I give her shoulder an encouraging squeeze, and she starts to play.
Her hands move swiftly and effortlessly across the keys like they were made for it. Her eyes scan her own handwriting, but it’s clear she doesn’t even need it-- she wrote it with her own hands, and she knows it by heart. All of the tension and nervous energy has depleted, and she’s focused just on creating beautiful sounds and steady rhythms with just the tips of her fingers.
It’s the most beautiful piece I’ve ever heard. Soft, and tender, full of pretty chords and trills that sound like little twinkles. The tune is unfamiliar to me right now, but I can’t wait to know it by heart like Willow does. A smile tugs at my lips as I listen, the stunning music taking over every other thought in my mind.
A cherry blossom petal falls onto the keys. Willow quickly sweeps it away, onto my lap, and I discreetly tuck it into my pocket. She glances at me for a second and smiles.
After what feels like a lifetime but was really no more than two minutes, the song ends abruptly. Willow plays one more chord, then looks at me, biting her lip.
“Sorry. I still have to write the ending, but--”
I pull her into a tight hug, pressing a million little kisses into her hair. She lets out a surprised huff and squeezes me back, her fingers curling around my sweater. After just a second, I pull back to tilt my forehead against hers.
“Willow Jane Addison. Babe. Love of my life,” I whisper. My cheeks ache from smiling. “That was the most beautiful thing I’ve ever heard.”
Willow practically melts against me, grinning. “You liked it?” She whispers.
“Loved it. I would listen to it all day, with or without an ending,” I whisper back, twirling a lock of her hair around my finger. “This is the best fucking surprise ever.”
Willow gives a sigh of relief and pulls me into a loose hug, her arms draping around my neck. “Thank god,” she whispers, her breath fanning against my hair. “Happy birthday, Lyra.”
