@viickers hit the ❤!
David doesn’t like playing music for Mr. Weyland. His father tends to stare at him as he plays, barely appreciating the beauty of the music itself as he watches and waits for any minuscule error. The errors never come, but Mr. Weyland waits for them all the same.
But he’s not home right now-- it’s just David and Meredith. She sits on his lap and taps at the piano keys near the middle while David handles the keys at the furthest ends that are a little more difficult for her to reach. Their music isn’t perfect, but it doesn’t have to be when their father is gone. Each slight mistake tarnishes the original composition, but makes the song more and more their own. David is happy.
He leans down to rest his chin lightly against the top of her head, teasingly abandoning his designated areas of the piano to play a few notes at the middle, setting his fingers down right beside hers. They’re so small compared to his own-- everything about her is small compared to him, despite the fact that she has existed for longer than he has-- and the fact that she will grow and change as she gets older is endlessly fascinating to him.
“You play so very well,” he says kindly, if only because it’s unlikely their father ever will.
