writing (story abt two pianist OCs)
i know nobody is gonna read this (also bec i havent been active) and it isn't a fanfic, it's js some random writing i've been doing abt these character's that have been living in my mind. I'll post my drabble (it is nottt done and like i lowk working out of order to i've written a flashback but i'm not gonna post it yet)
“Hello, Pavlov.” The pianist spoke with a smile playing on his lips.
“Stepan!” The taller man wrapped his arms around his friend. He spoke the French name the Russian way.
Stephan felt the breath leave him under that tight hug. He patted Viktor on the back. Viktor Pavlov pulled away, sensing that their embrace might have lasted a little too long. “When was the last time we saw each other?”
“Back in the Moscow Conservatory, right?” At that moment, both of them slipped into Russian. Viktor reacted with a grin.
“Yes, those were the days.” They both began walking towards the hotel front desk. It wasn’t a grand reception; after all, they were only performing in a small town in Washington, DC. He glanced down at his shorter companion. “You haven’t changed.”
“What could you mean by that?” Indeed, his voice was just as quiet as it used to be, and the nervous laugh punctuating his speech stayed the same.
The other man simply shook his head with a smile.
“Hello Miss, looking for a room registered under Viktor Pavlov.”
“Yes, you’re all set. And for the young man here?”
“Um, we… same room.” He sighed in a pathetic way, now knowing exactly what Viktor meant when he said that he didn’t change. The sigh also came from his reluctance to share a hotel room with the partner with whom he was to perform at the recital.
The woman led them to their room through the nondescript beige hallways.
‘This place seems so cheap. Surely we didn’t need to share this room.’
The pair nodded to the receptionist before she left them alone.
Stephan cleared his throat. “Did you catch that? She called me ‘young man,’ as if I were a little boy. She talked to you normally.” He spoke in Russian—the language that came naturally to him, despite being born in Switzerland; this was partly due to his Ukrainian roots and for growing up in the Russian conservatory sphere.
“Maybe it’s because you’re so short.” Viktor opened the door and gave Stephan a gentle shove through it.
“Stop playing around; we aren’t kids anymore.” He tried to sound stern, but a laugh gave him away. “Well, it’s true, you’re so old.”
“Only by a few years! Three years is by no means a lot.”
Stephan darted his eyes away. “It sure felt like a lot back then.”
"It was nothing. Even though I was older, that never stopped me from teasing you. You must remember that.” Viktor flicked on the light and shut the door behind him. “I thought the room would be bigger.”
"We won't be here long." Just one night, one very brief reunion.
Being in the cramped room brought to mind their time in Moscow. Stephan had been settled down on a chair for a while; Viktor only just then sat down on the spot on the opposite side of the lamp, which stood on the small white table separating them. They both looked into the distance, eyes focused nowhere in particular.
“Remember when our friends would go out partying? And you would stay in my little dorm room. We listened to my records. Richter.”
Stephan smiled to himself. “How could I forget? You were never my roommate, but I think I spent more time in a room together with you than with anyone else. It was, of course, only for Richter that I stayed.”
“Yes, yes, of course.” Viktor turned his head to face the other man. Another memory resurfaced, one that neither of them wanted to be the first to bring up. Stephan cleared his throat to break the silence.
“My wife? Yeah, we’re married now.”
“Congratulations, man!” He grabbed Viktor’s hand and clapped his shoulder.
“We have been married for a while now. I thought you would have known.”
“Well, you never told me directly. Don’t just expect me to know things like that.” Stephan’s voice hardened slightly. “I remember in Moscow when you had a girlfriend, a different one, of course; even then, I had to discover it through someone else.”
“Oh yeah, I forgot about that.”
Stephan couldn’t speak that one word, ‘Why?’ even though he desperately wanted to know the answer. ‘Why don’t you tell me those things?’
Viktor spoke again. “I have a kid now too, a newborn.”
“That’s wonderful.” There was no hint of excitement in his voice.
A silence passed through once more. Stephan stared up at the eggshell-white ceiling. He stood up, with the idea of taking a shower in mind. A hand grabbed his wrist, preventing him from walking away.
Stephan took it as a joke; after all, children are famously difficult to deal with, especially the firstborn. “Eh, I’m sure it’s not that bad. And the kid must be cute. Much like you.”
In the past, Viktor would have easily topped that trite compliment with something even worse—like ‘Not as adorable as you,’ delivered in that teasing tone typical of close schoolboys, perhaps even accompanied by a wink or a playful poke on the cheek—but right now, he couldn't come up with a single charming retort. So, he let go of Stephan's wrist and hung his head low beneath his shoulders.
Through the bathroom walls, he could hear Stephan playing music on his phone over the sound of dripping water. ‘Thank goodness we weren’t born in this generation. He would’ve never stayed to listen to Richter. He would’ve never slept over in my dorm room.’ Viktor pressed his ear to the door to get a better listen. It wasn’t classical piano. He recalled Stephan’s appreciation for jazz, who had begun learning both styles at the same time. But this wasn’t that either. ‘Maybe he changed more than I thought.’
It was both of their final years of post-graduate studies in New York. After that, Stephan would tour all over Europe, and Viktor would likely play around Mexico and other Latin America. He spent most of his time growing up there and considered it his home more than Russia. These past years were truly the prime time for them to communicate, to see each other. They did not. Stepan had ended up at a superior New York conservatory, perhaps the most famous music school in the world, Juilliard. Viktor continued his studies at the less prestigious Manhattan School of Music. For Stephan, this had never been an issue; he had always regarded Curtis as the best school of all, but perhaps it was precisely that slight disparity in musical status that led to their drifting apart.
Stephan bit his lip as he glanced up at the showerhead. His mind began moving elsewhere, thinking about how Viktor truly hadn’t changed much either. Still had the same smile and handsome face, though maybe slightly more chiseled than before. A creak coming from the door caught Stephan’s attention, and he immediately paused his music with a finger still dripping with water.
“Viktor?” The man leaning against the door quickly straightened up and stepped well away from where he had been standing a moment before.
Stephan stepped out onto the bath rug and called out again. “Was that you?”
A cough from across the room could be heard. “Are you almost done in there?”
“Yeah, I’ll be out in a bit.”
He squeezed his hair dry with a towel, the white and stiff hotel kind, and quickly pulled his clothes over his still damp body. The shabby doorknob had to be tinkered with for a moment before the door actually opened. Viktor stood, still in his suit, directly in front of Stephan’s sight.
“Don’t lie down like that right away. Your hair is still wet.”
“I know. I’m the one who feels it…” His last few protesting words faded into oblivion; that Viktor probably didn’t catch.
“Then I better not catch you asleep on the bed when I’m out of the shower.”
The present circumstances called to mind a scene that transpired in Moscow. It was almost summer, the tail end of the academic year. Stephan had just taken a shower at Viktor’s dorm and fell asleep on his bed. The moonlight scattered on his already pale skin, creating a gloomy shade of blue. When Viktor stepped out of the bathroom, he found Stephan lying there like a cat. He wore shorts; otherwise, his whole body would get itchy from the heat. Viktor shoved him around a bit to his own side of the bed, his hands lingering around his sides a moment longer.
Contrary to what happened that night in the dorm room, this hotel had separate beds. Despite Viktor’s warning, Stephan allowed himself to lie down on the one he chose. He closed his eyes and imagined his part of the music they’d be playing tomorrow. His fingers played upon his bent knees, soon, however, letting the movement become more led by muscle memory. In the shower, Stephan could hear some distant humming of their recital repertoire. Viktor always loved singing in the shower and even sung while playing guitar. He sang Spanish songs that drew in many people in Russia because of their exoticism. This, of course, charmed Stephan too. Viktor continued humming the Brahms four-hands variations even as he stepped out of the bathroom, stopping only to sigh at the sight of Stephan sleeping.
He stepped right up to the side of the bed and stared down at Stephan’s face. He stood there for a few seconds—seconds, however, that dragged on like minutes. The sleeping one was, in reality, not sleeping at all and had been peering through half-closed lids. When Viktor’s stillness had truly begun to worry him, Stephan opened his eyes.
“So you were awake this entire time too.”
“But it’s different because I’m revealing it now.” Stephan rolled over to face the other man. Viktor stepped away to close the blinds. He could barely make out anything in the dark room. His hands felt around on the nearest bed, Stephan’s. “Your bed is that way.” Stephan pointed, but of course, Viktor could not see.
“Do you remember in Moscow? We didn’t have that choice.” He chuckled, as he eventually found his own bed. The soft sound of his body sinking onto the duvet could be heard.
The soft howling of wind rustled the leaves out the window.
“Are you awake?” Viktor whispered.
“Are you trying to rest?”
“Yes, I’m tired, but I can’t quite fall asleep.” The movement of the bed sheets sounded as he turned over.
“Okay, I’ll stop talking then,” he resolved.
“No. It’s fine. I’ll let you know if I want you to stop.”
“I was just going to say, I remember how the wind would scare you.”
The quietest huff of laughter or annoyance could be heard from Stephan. “Really? Блин, ну и нюня я был.”
“It was cute though.” The smile on Viktor’s face peeked out through his words. They continued speaking in Russian. “Stiva, are you still awake?”
“Of course, I don’t fall asleep that quickly. You spoke only a second ago.”
“I know; I’m just checking.”
“You don’t need to check that often.”
The trees swayed in the wind once more.
