A Bond Needs Compromise
“(y/n), stop looking at your tattoo and get back to practice,” The sound of your mother’s biting tone was enough to snap you from your reverie, bow hand tightening around the brand new French bow with a renewed purpose. You took one last glance at your tattoo wrapping around your wrist, before peering back at the advanced sonata staring at you from your stand. Your mother was a retired musicology professor who had a previous employment in the musical world as a world famous cellist, concert pianist, violinist, and harpist. With that in mind, she rose you to follow in her footsteps, and it seemed to be the perfect niche for you when she learned of your natural perfect pitch and talent for the cello, piano, and harp, the cello more so. By the age of seven, you could play through “The Swan” from Carnival of Animals with ease, seeing the musical across the paper dancing along with the speed of your small fingers. Music consumed you, you breathed in music and exhaled notes to a beat always strumming along to the background of your thoughts. You thought in cut time and sang to D major and every little ounce of you only knew of concertos and suites.
Your father, before he passed when you turned 10, loved listening to you play. And maybe that was why you felt indebted to your cello and music, because it had brought you such a happy time in your life. God, he had been such a wonderful person. He and your mother had met while attending a symposium with different friend groups, but ended up sitting together and talking about the concert during intermissions. Your father was a vocal coach for a plethora of artists from opera to pop singers to singers who chose guitar and rock music as their medium of expression. And they had been in love, and you were sure that was the reason your mother had grown hard where she had been soft, tough where she had once been tender. Their bond had not be a true one, but that had never mattered to them, and that was the reason she lived, damaged, broken, but alive. Secondary bonds are powerful things, even if they are between two people originally not meant for each other, because things happen, people fall in love at the strangest of times, don’t they?
But his loss was her loss and yours. Your mother took a bigger role in controlling your life. You were dedicated to your craft throughout middle school, forgoing other clubs and activities to put on performances and gather a following. When you wanted to go to a sleepover or the movies with your friends, your mother would make you practice twice as long just for asking. When you wanted to take part in a play, it was playing the music instead of acting like you wanted. When high school started, it was worse.
As much as you loved your mother and your music and your cello, you couldn’t breathe anymore. But you didn’t want to disappoint her. As her only daughter, you just wanted to keep her happy and the more recognition you received from critics in the musical community, the happier she appeared to be while ignoring how much pressure you were under. You finally snapped a few days after your 17th birthday, when your friends surprised you with a couple tickets to a concert for that upcoming Friday night. It was to see a local band that was starting to really thrive and be taken seriously. You had never listened to rock music before, had never had the time with listening to classical tunes and practicing more classical music. But here was your chance!
“No. Absolutely not. You have a play an accompany in three days. You need your practice now more than ever.” If you were younger, you would’ve bowed down and quietly cried about it in your room later. But you weren’t a child anymore. You stood your ground, tiny fingers curled into fists as you rose your head defiantly.
“I could play that arrangement in my sleep. I didn’t get to do anything for my birthday and my friends really want me to go. I never ask you to go anywhere and I always practice my hardest, so can I please go?” Your mother’s countenance turned sour, shoulders slumping as she sighed.
“No, (y/n). Now go practice.” And you did. Hope vanishing, you stalked to the practice room to play out everything you wish you could say to her. You may be her daughter, but you are also yours. You were never given the choice to do anything but play and play- what if you just stopped playing one day? Would she finally understand then if you just gave it all up? Sometimes the thought crossed your mind, but your fingers would flex and your chest would feel so empty. Your cello and your music were all you had. All you really knew. You glanced down at your wrist, sighing. And him. Jack Barakat. Maybe you could have him too, one day. That would probably be the only decision you’d ever have the ability to make for yourself.
ATL. ATL. ATL. ATL.
“(y/n), come on! Jump down and Alex will catch you!” Your friend Sam hissed up towards you as you pushed one foot out the window. Your lights were off, pillows stuffed under your blankets to take on the likeness of your body. Sam waved you down as Alex stood close under your window, arms outstretched and ready for your weight. Just go for it. Do it. Do it. She’ll never know. And it’s not like- you stopped yourself from thinking too much and launched yourself out of your window, (h/l), (h/c) billowing in the wind as you landed in Alex’s arms, his laugh muffled against your shirt. You feel the adrenaline pumping through you, almost as high as when you play a piece in front of a crowd, and giggle quietly as you Alex gets you on your feet.
“Glad you’re joining us, (y/n), you finally get to see my band play. Sam’s been trying to get you to come for ages!”
“Sorry about that,” You murmur as the group turns to head for the van, tugging at your wrist band covering your tattoo. You always wore it while practicing to keep you from constantly looking at it and getting distracted. You must have forgotten to take it off. “My mom kept saying no but I decided… I wanted to come.”
“Good thing too, we just finished a couple brand new songs we’re ready to fucking play!” He started cheering once all of you made it to the van, you quickly crawling inside and grinning as the door slammed and the van started. You were really doing this. Really.
Whoa.
The venue was packed with a high density of females but just as many guys rocking their head to the beat of the guitar riffs on stage. There was a band on before Alex’s, All Time Low, so Alex led you and Sam through the crowd, ducking out of girl’s grasps to get to the backstage entrance. You had been friends with Alex since middle school, and ended up attending a private high school where you met Sam. She specialized in brass instruments, like the trumpet and tenor saxophone. When you found out she was friends with Alex, he’d been more excited to catch up and you couldn’t help but second the enthusiasm. He’d always been a troublemaker, cracking jokes in class and bringing his guitar to play during lunch time. And to see him now, a part of a band and making so many strives for his budding career? It was amazing.
“Alright ladies, time to meet the other great members.” Alex said over the blasting music, the backstage door shutting behind you and clicking locked. You looked around as you followed behind Sam and Alex towards the light at the end of the hall, making a sharp turn into a doorway that led to the dressing room. It was bigger than expected, with a couple chairs filled with equipment, two dressers with mirrors and a long black couch in the corner. One guy sat in a chair toying with a few strings on his bass while the other two sat on the couch, playing a card game, heads lowered and arguing over fair card representation. You glanced around the room again as Alex introduced you.
“Guys, you remember Sam. This is our friend, (y/n).” You tune back in at the sound of your name, a smile perking up the corners of your mouth as your (e/c) eyes crinkled up at the corners. The three members looked up, eyes instantly finding your figure, decked out in the only pair of black skinny jeans you owned (Sam forced you into them. In fact, she forced you to buy them) and a black Yo Yo Ma shirt you’d had since seeing him in concert for the first time. And for some reason, Sam insisted on plastering your eyes with shimmering silver eyeshadow with a black undertone, mascara, and eyeliner, which always made your eyes tear up. And the red lipstick with just strange, it made your lips feel dry and odd. But she said it would help you blend in because the sun dress you had chosen would stand out way too much.
“It’s nice to meet you guys. Alex and Sam have been trying to get me to come see you perform but I was never able to.” If only they knew the half of it. The first to stand was the guy holding the bass, offering a hand and a little smile.
“I’m Zach. The heart of this band.” You take his hand and give it a little shake as Alex snorts off to the side, rolling his eyes and crossing his arms.
“Don’t take any of his lies, (y/n).” Sam seconded, although the last time you remembered, there was some history between them that she refused to revisit. The two sitting set down their cards before coming over, both towering over you.
“I’m the drummer and the only sane person, Rian. And this cheater is our resident hot head, Jack.” Jack- no, no, no. You instantly put the thought out of mind. You’d met enough Jacks to last a lifetime and just assuming this Jack was yours would be rude. Your smile expands and you quickly shake Rian’s hand before turning to Jack, the blond along one side of his head shockingly bright against dark as he peers down at you. God, he’s probably not yours, but he’s attractive, with that boyish smile and bright eyes, tall and lanky but you were sure it would all fill out once he was older. He reaches for your hand, giving it little squeeze that shoots right through you and wraps around your wrist like a live entity. You’re frozen, heart palpitating in your ears so loud that it almost drowns out his words, your eyes honing in on his soft looking lips before you can help yourself. No other Jack had an effect like that. You quickly let go of his hand, twiddling with your fingers before reaching back to push your hair behind your ear, peeking up at him.
“What instrument do you play?” You blink, head raising a bit more at the question, “Your fingers. You play something, don’t you?” Your mouth falls open, but no words will spill out. His voice is deeper than you were expecting it to be. Didn’t quite match his face but didn’t quite not either. You took in a breath, but still. You risked looking like an embarrassed idiot if not for Sam coming to your rescue.
“How have you not heard about (y/n)? She’s plastered on billboards these days. She’s a concert cellist that’s going to be playing with the symphony orchestra as one of their main chairs. They won’t let her be first chair because it’ll make the other people there longer feel bad. She’s that good. And she has perfect pitch! Like, how can anyone be that lucky?” Sam talks you up, makes it harder to speak because your face is growing hot and you can’t stop glancing between Jack’s changing expression to the ground. He’ll probably think it’s weird- considering how different your musical tastes are. But in fact, it’s quite the opposite. He looks almost as embarrassed as you feel, the interest clear on his face as he started to smile.
“Perfect pitch? That’s really amazing, (y/n). Maybe you should come around more often. Alex has been sounding a little pitchy these days-”
“Asshole!” Alex yells from his spot, and he’s practically held back by Rian from getting to pummel Jack into the ground. The lead singer squints over at Jack, until Rian leans in to murmur something in his ear. You can’t really concentrate, too busy staring up at Jack as his eyes meet yours and according to the band members and Sam, Jack is just as entranced by you. He can feel your presence under his skin and it makes him feel more alive than being on stage.
“But you should- come. More often. Play with us and- yeah.” He gets out after fumbling for words, one of his legs lightly tapping at the ground. (It’s a nervous tick he’d tell you about later, curled up under his blankets with your head against his chest, trying to escape your world and dive deeper into his own). You smile, cheeks pink, eyes lowering to your toes.
“I-I’d love to.” Even if it was not likely to happen again if your mother ever found out about you sneaking out. Before either of you could mumble over more conversation, Alex looks at his phone and sees their time to head out on stage is about to arrive. He gathers the boys and with guitars and drumsticks in hand, they start to stalk towards the exit door that would lead them to the stage. Sam reaches for your hand, grabbing it gently and smiling at you as she tugs you along after them, murmuring something that you don’t quite pick up because you’re still too busy staring at Jack’s back. The pair of you end up with the best backstage view anyone could dream of, guitar riffs ripping through the air with words leaving Alex’s mouth. They sound amazing as they play to a full house, but all you can focus on is Jack. He plays as if it’s his reason for breathing, living, so energetic that it makes the crowd scream. It’s a wonderful thing to see, and it makes your tattoo warm over beneath your wristband, and you’re sure with every fiber of your being that he is yours and you are his. And even if he isn’t, even if you have it wrong- God, you might be in love.
ATL. ATL. ATL. ATL
“Did you have fun last night?” Your mother asks nonchalantly as she flipped through a few pages in her book. Clearing your throat, you reached over your plate for the carton of milk, unable to meet her eyes. You’d made it back later than you’d hoped, too hyped up on finding the one and being able to see him smile after the show. The entire group had holed up in a burger place, swapping memories and sharing congratulations on a great show. Jack sat beside you, murmuring softly into your ear and smiling at you whenever your eyes met.
“Mother, I-” She finally looks over at you, finally gives you attention, the disdain clear on her face.
“Don’t lie to me, (y/n). Did you have fun last night? Going out there after I gave you permission not to? You could’ve been hurt. You could’ve been-”
“... But I wasn’t. I was fine, I was with my friends, Mom. I just wanted one thing for me. Finally. You tell me what to do all the time and I do it. But the one time I want to do something for myself, you try to take it away from me.” You murmured, fingers slipping off of the milk carton as you sat back in your chair. It didn’t change that you had lied, had snuck out, but could she really blame you for wanting a night off?
“I do everything this way because I want to keep you safe.”
“Does that mean I can’t have a life?” Now that you’d started, you couldn’t seem to stop talking back. You stand up, chair pushing back. You didn’t want to argue, “I’m heading to school. I’ll practice there. See you later.”
Your mother said nothing. And even if she had, you were too far gone to listen.
“I mean, I think she seriously just wants the best for you. And she doesn’t want you to ruin all of the things you got going. You’re about to be accompanying someone so big, plus you already have a job lined up and everything,” Sam tried to put it into another perspective, and despite it making sense, you were adamant.
“I get it, I do. I just- she’s always like that. If it isn’t cello or practice or reading new music scores or- anything she wants, it’s a problem. But going to that concert last night was the best thing I’ve ever done, Sam. Honest. I think I found the right one…” Your voice lowered as you glanced around the empty practice room, “The right Jack.” Your eyes glanced quickly to your wrist before looking back at her. Sam grins, wiggling her hips in her seat as she swings around her trombone lightly.
“I knew it! The guys knew it! I think Jack’s tattoo is on his arm! That’s what Zach told me.” You childishly wiggled your brows much to her chagrin.
“So you’re back on talking basis with him? When did that happen?” Sam crinkles her nose up and purses her lips.
“Last night. He showed me his tattoo… said he didn’t know what to do about it when it first showed up and he didn’t want to hurt me by not being sure of us. And I guess now he is.”
“But that’s a good thing, isn’t it?” You can see her unease in the way she tapped at her instrument.
“It is… but our lives? We’re going in different directions. I’m trying to get a job in scoring movies… writing symphonies… he wants to be a rockstar. How could we possibly work, even as True Bonds?” You tried not to let her words get to you because in more than one way, you and Jack would be in the same predicament. And you didn’t need that raining on your newly formed parade.
So you ignored it. You ignored it the next time you saw him, when he came to your show. You ignored it when he met you backstage with a bouquet of roses and a kiss on the cheek and you kept ignoring it when he asked you out on a date. The date was to see a famous cellist perform a solo, and afterwards? When he admitted to spending all of his money on the tickets, how could you not fall a little further? Despite going to different schools and your mother’s grudging acceptance of the new flame in your life, you were happy. You were so, so happy that it almost seemed impossible sometimes. Jack was silly, and funny, and intense. He loved spending all of his waking hours with you, sometimes sneaking up to your room to cuddle you to sleep, fingers tangled in your soft (h/c) tresses.
And so, the first 6 months were good, better than good- they were perfect. You sat in the back of the band’s practices with Sam, the both of you working on your music theory finals. You attended his shows as much as you could while preparing for graduation and the job waiting for you.
“Hey, (y/n),” Jack called out softly to you, making you raise up your head and smile. He waved you over and you set down your things to walk over to him. He’d been hunched over a notepad as everyone took a break from practice, scribbling away furiously.
“What’s up?” You asked as you leaned against him, glancing down at his notepad before his large hands quickly covered it up.
“No peeking. I’ve been working on a song for warped tour- Well, it’s for you, but you have to be there to hear it, okay? Please? Pretty please?” How could you possibly say no? In response, you press a kiss to his nose, nudging your forehead against his.
“Of course, I’ll be there,” You murmured, your lips stolen in a soft kiss as you watch Jack smile that smile you love the most. You just wanted to keep him smiling like that. You wanted to be a part of his world in any and every way before you could no longer be ignorant.
ATL. ATL. ATL. ATL.
The Symposium calling you had been the most fantastic day of your life. Working with the symphony orchestra was still in the cards, but the musical symposium wanted you to perform in front of affluent directors, artists, musical talents, and the like. You couldn’t turn something like this down, not for anything. It would be your first big stamp in the musical community fresh out of high school. You were too excited to read the paperwork date clearly, to excited to pay attention to the clash, too wrapped up in your happiness to realize the impending ending. You were reaching the 8 month mark with Jack, but had begun to see less of him. Being a part of the Warped Tour package meant intense practice, writing, recording, and getting the tour van as well as prepping with other bands. The tour would last… a while, Jack had made it clear, and despite your sadness at him being scarce, you had your own niche as well.
You had advanced exponentially since finding out about being a lead member in the symposium; that meant more late night practice at home under your mother’s tutelage. You had grown closer, she had loosened her reigns once she saw how well Jack treated you, and you had realized she had never meant for there to be such a strain in your relationship to begin with. Things were growing better just as they were also getting progressively worse. Jack stopped answering texts and phone calls. He’d push dates back or come up with excuses. He had more practice, less time for you. Whenever he called, you were in the middle of a cello workout or sight reading music. It was harder to coordinate.
“It feels like I haven’t seen you in forever,” You whispered into the phone, it was well after 1am and you just couldn’t find sleep without hearing the sound of his voice at least once. It had been weeks.
“I know… I’m sorry, (y/n). I promise it won’t always be like this.” Jack makes another promise you believe and you sigh into your covers, imagining him close enough to touch.
“Do you think you could take… a day off for my symposium?” You feel bad for even asking, you weren’t going to bother mentioning it, but it would brighten your world to look out in the crowd and see him there supporting you.
“What date is it?” He asked, voice full of enthusiasm, “When were you going to tell me about it? This is huge!”
“Ah, I just didn’t want to make you lose focus. But it would seriously mean so much to me if you were there. It’s (M/D). Do you think you could come?”
“Wait-” The silence that rings across the line is enough to make you think back to that date, to a conversation the both of you had before things grew hectic and crazy, when Jack had seen you every single day without fail.
The day of your Symposium was the start date of Warped Tour, the day you’d promised to be there as support. But you couldn’t, not now. This chance to show your skills could open up so many doors for you.
“Jack-” You start, but what is there to say? That ignorance you had built up was suddenly beginning to crumble, “I didn’t remember… I’m so sorry.”
“But you promised.” He sounds hurt, dejected, and it’s not fair, “You promised you’d be there.”
“I know I did, Jack. But I didn’t remember the date. I didn’t think they’d be on the same day… I can’t make it. This symposium… it could change everything. Absolutely everything. I could be… a part of the best.”
“So there’s no way you could do both? I know this means a lot to you, but I’m playing on the main stage, (y/n). People are coming to see me, to hear me. I just wanted… you to be there.” There went that disappointment again.
“I can’t…”
“Can’t or won’t?”
“That’s not fair, Jack. I wanted to be there. But this is just as important to me as your music is to you. I just thought-” that you’d be happy for me no matter what.
“I know it is! I just really thought I could count on you to be there. To see you. I’m just sad that you can’t make it.” You peer down at your toes lathered in green, feeling less excited for what should be the greatest moment of your life. To be fair, Jack did have a point. You felt just as disappointed as he did. You felt even more insignificant in his rising stardom. Maybe being so damn ignorant for so long was your mistake.
“I’m sorry... “ And it sank deep into your bones, made your wrist flare up with even more pain, “I- I’ll call you later.” You finish in a rush, quickly ending the call before he could hear you cry over the line. He was states away now, preparing more, he didn’t have time for this, for you and knowing that you let him down. It didn’t really change much. The busier you both became, the more obvious it all felt. Sam had been right… different directions… different wants and needs.
You didn’t answer the next time he called. You holed yourself up in your practice room and played until your fingers were bruised and purple. Four hours a day constantly with no breaks will do that- you didn’t want to face him. You didn’t want to disappoint him again. You couldn’t ignore all the crumbling, or how often you’d stare at your tattoo, curled around your wrist like a safekeeping. It was harder to feel him over the distance, and you tried to keep your feelings under wraps for both your sakes. But you missed him. You missed his kisses and his hugs and the way he always had something silly to say. You missed the different colors in his hair and the way he’d stare at you when he thought you weren’t paying attention. You missed holding his hands. You just missed his presence; he always made you feel bigger than yourself, more than just some girl who had her head stuck in sheet music.
A few weeks before the show, Sam called you, quietly celebrating in your upcoming performance. She’d signed on to work the merch stands for the band before taking on her first semester of college. She’d also done it to be closer to Zach- you’d wanted to go, but it risked setting you back in your practice. Jack had understood then. But maybe you should’ve taken the risk. Done more. Taken more steps out of your bubble to be with him even though you were both so different from each other.
“I really wish I could’ve gone with you, Sam. I’m up to my neck with this score and I- I’m just trying to do my best.” Your voice quivers and you suck in a breath, feeling so low. But you don’t want to ruin Sam’s mood. She sounds so happy, so at home there in whatever state they were starting out in. It would be unfair to suddenly make that happiness dim.
“Honey. I know, I know. Jack’s gotten paler, harder to keep happy which is insane considering it’s… well, Jack. Are you guys still not speaking? (y/n). I’m sorry, I know this is bad, but not talking is hurting the both of you. He feels guilty about asking you to come. He feels guilty about a lot of things.” Sam murmurs reassuringly into your ear as you set down your bow, sitting back in your stiff chair. You’d spent the night in the practice room again. Going home made you sad. Seeing your mother go through old photo albums made you worse.
“I don’t want him to feel guilty… I just- remember when you said what would be the point? Between you and Zach? And how you were going in different directions? I ignored it then but now I can’t anymore because it’s happening. He’s going on tour and I can’t be there on the first day, the day that means the most to him. And he can’t come and support me at this symposium. This may be the only time something like this will happen, but I doubt that. I have to move, he’ll be moving constantly and I can’t stand the thought of disappointing him again. It hurt too much. I don’t know how to fix it, how to make him happy.”
“(y/n)... hearing your voice makes him happy. Knowing that you’re doing all of these amazing things makes him happy. But he thinks you’re mad at him. And you think you’re disappointing him. You guys need to talk about it. You still love him, yeah?”
“Y-Yeah.” You hiccuped before you could help it, balancing your phone between your ear and shoulder and reaching up to rub at your wet eyes with both hands. You sniffled and quickly wiped your nose. “Even if he’s i-insane sometimes.”
“Exactly. So talk to him, tell him what you told me. Put on a kick ass performance and live your dream, baby. You deserve this. Don’t ever think you don’t.”
He calls you the next day, just when you were moments away from pressing on his icon, sounding tired, worn out, and maybe a little scared.
“Baby…?” It felt so good to hear his voice that the warmth spills over you, makes everything brighter. You feel some of your dream evaporate.
“I missed you.” The words easily leave your mouth and you feel a small tug at your bond, can feel Jack on the other side reciprocating your emotions. To be able to feel him so easily is a blessing in every form, “I missed you so much. I’m sorry I can’t-”
“It’s okay. It’s okay. I promise. You’re going to do great, I just know it. I only wish I could be there with you.” You busy your fingers with drawing little hearts on top of your sheet music, your sheets messily curled around you. You’d turned in for a day to just rest and relax. Even your mother could tell that all of the practice was wearing you thinner and thinner, and the almost bloody fingertips were a reminder that you needed to relax better, to take better care of yourself because Jack would feel horrible knowing you were digging yourself into the ground about this and about the performance. And you just needed a day to rest away, lazily sipping on flavored water and watching random things on youtube to make yourself de-stress. Hearing Jack’s voice only made it a thousand times better.
“Have you been taking care of yourself? Sam told me you’ve been tired…” You grumble as you lay back and peer up at your ceiling.
“I tried- honest! I was just worried about you, about us. Thinking you were mad at me was killing me, honest, (y/n). I- I fucking love you.” He blurts out, stunning you. It’s the most eloquent way he can get his feelings across even if he wanted to wait to say it, the right time. But why the hell should he wait? He’d wanted to tell you that first date, seeing your eyes glazed over with wonder as all of your attention was paid to the cellist on stage in the single spotlight, playing as if she had breathed and lived and sustained for that moment.
He’d be damned if he missed seeing you in that light. If he missed seeing you play like you’d never played before. And it’s a little mean not to tell you, but he wants this to be a surprise. He wants you to look out into the crowd like that cellist did, but catch his eyes right before the conductor raises up his hand in ready position. He wanted to give her that- and never question her again. Of course performing on the first night would be insane to miss, but he could play the next, and the one after that, and every single one that followed. Even Alex and Zach had urged him to go. To head back home to make it to you in time. They understood that it was just something you couldn’t put aside for your own wants.
“I love you too.” Your voice is soft, almost a whisper, your heart roaring in your ears as you turn on your side to press your cheeks into your pillow. Jack would be having a field day if he could see how flushed your face became. “I love you, Jack.” And maybe everything would work out in it’s own way if you just let it. Your wrist gives a pleasurable ache, a healthy reminder that Jack is a part of you just as much as you are a part of him. His intense melded with your gentle. His crazy crashed landed into your quiet and he was an adventure. He made you feel whole and human and like your music is important. He believes in you almost more than you do.
ATL. ATL. ATL. ATL.
The symposium arrives in the midst of your last minute touches and revisions to your technique, and you almost felt your throat clench just walking into the building a couple hours before the start of the event.The director had personally thanked you for accepting the position, and they were looking forward to being amazed by your talent. You blubbered through your appreciation, biting at your lower lip as he moved on to another arriving guest. Cello strapped to your back, it didn’t really ruin the flowing attire your mother let you wear. She’d almost cried, which was a rarity, when she pulled it out and showed it to you. It had been the same duo she had worn during her first concert in her career. The top was modest, clinging loosely to give your arms free mobility and cutting off just above your navel, the color a deep red with small rubies encrusted in it to shimmer under the spotlight. The maxi skirt hid you legs, more rubies littered over it’s light texture, so light that it didn’t weigh down your legs or feel odd with the cello leaning against your thighs.
You suck in a deep breath and clutch at your bow, peeking around the large red curtains to see the packed auditorium, the chairs going back and raising to almost meet the ceiling. It was amazing to see so many faces in one place. You’d always given packed performances, but never to a crowd or in a place of this magnitude. It filled your stomach to the brim with butterflies. The director took to the stage then, mic in hand and giving a warm welcome to the crowd as a stage hand placed your chair in the center. All of the music dashed through your mind a mile a minute, repeating itself again and again. It kept going as the director introduced you, giving a short background before telling the crowd to give you a round of applause. The crowd claps with enthusiasm as you stare straight ahead, stepping past the red curtain and straightening your back. The spotlight is- it feels incredible, warm and excluding everything but you. You carry your cello carefully across the stage, sitting down and keeping your back straight at the same time. You ignore the spotlight, eyes peering out into the crowd like it would somehow bring everyone you love under one roof. It would’ve been amazing to have your father bask in this moment with you. He’d be crying more than your mother, sobbing and trying to wrap his arms around you in the most unbelievably bone crushing hug the universe would ever know. Your tattooed wrist gives a soft twinge and you blink, your feelings quickly seeing out your Bonded.
Your eyes quickly work its way from the top of the auditorium to the very center in front of you. Through the faces trying to catch your eyes, you make out the streak of blonde and lower your gaze, those brown eyes crinkling at the corners as you follow the bridge of his nose down to that mesmerising smile. You blink once, twice, before you realize it’s real. Jack is here- why why why he has Warped Tour what is he doing- but your heart is so fucking full that it hurts and before you can toss aside everything to tackle him in the crowd, you put your bow to your string and play.
You play for your father, who never had a chance to do everything he wanted to do for you.
You play for your mother, who never had a chance to renew her vows.
You play for Jack, who gave up his stage for yours. Even if it was for just one night, the first night, it meant everything to you. Closing your eyes, you continue to play from muscle memory, every note so full of melancholy and emotion that in the end, tears do peek from under your lids. You do nothing to stop them, just continue to play with that spotlight displaying your heart.
You play for yourself, for who you want to be. For who you’ve always been.
The moment your final note pierces the quiet, the standing ovation is booming in the wake of such an ethereal silence. It catches you off guard and you open your wet eyes, smiling through your cries as Jack does the unthinkable. As everyone claps, he makes his way down the rows and pushes himself up onto the stage, blocking the spotlight from blinding you.
“W-What are you doing here, Jack?” You ask as he gets closer, setting your cello and bow down as everyone continues to clap.
“I’m happy to see you too. I needed to be here, for you. I know you said it was alright to miss it, but I wouldn’t have forgiven myself that easily. And you were so amazing, baby. You blew me away.” He talks as he steps closer, reaching out with palms up. You take his hands instantly, trying to blink past your constant stream of tears as he pulls you up and against his chest, peppering the top of your head with kisses. Your wrist burns hot, the good kind as your Bond is enveloped with an unexplainable feeling. More than love. More than you or him or everything.
You left your information with the director, giving your condolences for not being able to attend any longer. He understood, noting the firm hold Jack had on your hand, and gave you his thanks. You left your phone on silent, ignoring the calls already coming in as you hitched up your skirt to slip into the passenger seat.
“Off to Michigan for the next day?” Jack questioned, glancing over at you with a wide grin.
“Hell yeah.”
Being True Bonds doesn’t suddenly mean everything will be easy. There are still fights, arguments, and the need to compromise. Luckily, your Bonded happened to be more than willing.