To anybody else, the sounds of the violin echoing through the seemingly endless expanse of the sanctum may have been eerie. Scary, even. Doctor Strange wasn’t anybody else. To him, each stroke of the bow across the four strings was as close to heaven on earth as he could get. The melody flowed not only through the building but through his entire body, intertwining with each muscle and bone, filling him to the brim with relaxation and comfort. He never was very music-inclined, the only experience being in the OR when he played the song guessing games with the other surgeons to help pass the time, but this touched every musical cell in his body and brought them to life.
It began when you became a resident of the sanctum. Mostly to be backup for when Stephen couldn’t be there, Wong assigned you to become an assistant to the master of the New York sanctum (you liked to call it co-master). It took a while for Stephen to drop his serious exterior around you, but considering the fact that the two of you spent the majority of your time together, it was hard for the man to keep it up. More than that, though, the sorcerer found that he had a weak spot for you. You who stayed up to greet him when he came back home late, waiting with drooping eyes and a smile just to make sure he was safe; you who reminded him to take breaks, eat, and stay hydrated throughout the day; you who healed his wounds when he came back from a fight bloodied and bruised; and finally, you who played the violin at late hours of the night so beautifully that it soothed the fear from his nightmares or relaxed him when his mind couldn’t shut off.
The first time Stephen heard it, he had woken up in a cold sweat after having a recurring nightmare of the night of the car crash. He was disoriented for a few minutes, trying to catch his breath and calm down, when he heard it. It was soft and far away, as though it were coming from a room down the hallway, but it was there. It was so soothing he didn’t realize his breathing had regulated and his grip on the sheets had loosened. His first instinct was to get closer, to hear it clearer, to fill his mind up with the gorgeous melody, but his body was tired and he fell back asleep soon after laying down.
The second time Stephen heard it, he was sitting at a desk in his room poring over a number of books he borrowed from the library at Kamar-Taj. It was late and he couldn’t help but hear your chastising voice telling him “you should sleep more, Stephen! You of all people should know how important sleep is as a doctor. Besides, you get even grumpier than usual when you sleep late.” He chuckled at the thought before his mind wandered off. He wondered if you were asleep, what you would be doing awake, what you were dreaming about, and generally thought about you until the sound of the violin wandered into his room.
It sounded more like warm ups at the start. Notes ascending up then down with varying rhythms and speeds and a couple simple tunes like Twinkle Twinkle Little Star or Mary Had A Little Lamb. A few minutes of that passed by when the first piece began. He recognized it, though he didn’t know the name. Stephen leaned back in his chair and closed his eyes, allowing himself to thoroughly enjoy the soothing melody. When that piece ended and another one began, he stood and left the room, determined to find the source and get closer to it.
He tread softly through the hallway, following the sound of the now lively music. His search ended when he saw your form in front of the large circular window, body moving accordingly to what you were playing. You swayed slightly at slower parts, slightly dipped down as emphasis on heavier notes, and sometimes even did turns on rests, soft laughter becoming part of the music. Stephen couldn’t take his eyes off of you. He was captivated by the passion you exuded and the gorgeous melody that you produced. The moonlight and soft lamplight only highlighted the beauty of the scene as it hugged your form, making you look like you were glowing.
He stood there and watched you play from beginning to end without a sound, and only after you began putting the instrument in its case did he snap out of it and approach you. He bathed you in genuine compliments and the two of you somehow ended up sitting together on Stephen’s bed with you talking about how you came to love the violin and him absorbing every word as though they were water and he were a man stranded in the Sahara Desert. A few hours later, Stephen woke to the sight of you still sleeping peacefully next to him in an undeniably funny, yet endearing because it was you, position.
That day was still fresh in his mind as though it were mere minutes ago. Every time he thought about whether that was because of how breathtaking you were or because it was when he realized he was in love with you, his answer was both. He fell in love with you and your playing months ago, but the flame burned brighter than ever. In fact, every interaction he had with you only added fuel to it.
________
“Who pissed in your breakfast?”
You were currently in a corner of the library tucked away somewhere in the sanctum, full bookshelves creating a nice secluded area and a large window allowing natural evening light into the room. You were standing in front of the wall, a couple pages of music sheets taped along it, and holding your violin. Stephen happened to find you while he was “looking for a book.”(In truth, he was looking for you as he hadn’t seen you in a couple hours and missed you, but he would never admit it.) His initial relief at seeing you in the library dissipated when he noticed the distressed expression on your face.
“Myself, apparently. I don’t know why I can’t get this right.” You sighed and placed your instrument on the desk next to you before dragging the chair away from the desk and flopping down onto it.
“How long have you been at this?” Stephen approached you and placed a tentative hand on your shoulder, noticing the exhaustion in your eyes and hair that looked like upset hands ran through them multiple times. You leaned your head back onto the chair and looked at him.
“Not sure. A couple hours, I think? The sun moved a lot since I started.” Knowing the signs of overworking as a person who overworks himself, Stephen grew worried.
“Have you eaten anything? Or at least drank some water?” Your eyes widened in the slightest, so small most people would’ve missed it, but he noticed. He grew more suspicious when you turned your head to look at the sheet music covered wall in front of you.
“Yeah, of course I have.” As if on cue, your stomach made a strange gurgling sound. You now turned your head entirely away from the sorcerer to the desk on your left. Stephen rolled his eyes and quickly portaled away. Just as you started questioning what he was doing, he portaled back with a few takeout boxes of food and two plates in his hands. It smelled amazing. Your stomach made another embarrassing sound.
“Let’s eat.”
It turns out that Stephen had popped into your favorite restaurant and bought dinner for the both of you, being somewhat lacking in the cooking department. Now the two of you sat at the desk, Stephen taking his time with his meal while you tried your hardest to not shove the entire plate down your throat.
“Now that you’re less hungry, what’s so important that you worked on it for multiple hours straight with no break or food?” As a response, you stared at your food more intensely and shoveled more of it into your mouth for more time to think as you chewed.
“It’s nothing. Just a piece I like, nothing special.” You decided to keep it vague, and the sorcerer obviously didn’t believe a word judging by the exasperated sigh that left his lips.
“You look worse than I did after spending 5 years in oblivion. Cut the crap.” You finally looked up from your food to make eye contact with the man sitting across from you. At first glance, he appeared to be irritated at the lack of a direct answer, but you knew better. You saw the worry in his eyes and in the furrow of his brow, and felt guilty for making him concerned about you.
“Beethoven’s Romance in F major,” you mumbled and looked back down at your plate, unable to keep eye contact anymore.
“What? Is that the song you were working on?” The tone of his voice became a little softer, recognizing the hesitance in your voice at sharing this information with him.
“Piece—but yeah. Beethoven’s Romance. It’s supposed to be played with an orchestra, but I changed it to make it an unaccompanied solo." You were avoiding the real point of practicing this piece in particular, and he knew it.
"Why is it bothering you so much?" At this point, exasperation was entirely replaced with curiosity.
"It's the 17th of November today." You said it as though the date was supposed to explain everything. It didn’t.
"And? What does that have to do with anything?" At this, you finally looked back up at him and huffed, embarrassed to explain.
"What can you give a man who has everything?" The confusion didn’t leave his face, so you huffed and steeled your nerves before continuing to explain.
“That’s the question I’ve been asking myself for about a month now. Wong told me your birthday was coming up and I didn’t have any good ideas for a present, but I didn’t want to get you something shitty, I care about you too much to do that!” At this, Stephen raised an eyebrow and you felt your face get hot, but you pressed on. “So I decided to play something for you, since you say you like it so much.”
“And you chose something called Romance?”
“That, and Elgar’s Salut D’amour. Means greeting of love.”
Silence followed your words and you risked taking a glance at his face, a million possibilities of what expression he would have running through your mind. Out of all of them, you never could have imagined the red that dusted his cheeks and soaked the tips of his ears.
“You’re not very subtle, are you?” His lips turned up into a smirk, and a laugh followed. Not the mocking kind—he wouldn’t do that to you—but the kind that comes out instinctively when you don’t know how to react. You didn’t know whether that was a good thing or not. Subconsciously, your muscles tensed up even more and you felt tears pricking at your eyes. Looking away was the safest option in trying not to show your vulnerability.
“Shit, I didn’t mean it like that.” You felt a hand fall shakily on top of your own. “Hey, look at me,” his voice was soft in comparison to the spoken words. With a deep inhale, you managed to force your head back into position to look at the man sitting across from you.
“I couldn’t ask for a better gift. Nobody’s ever even considered giving me something so personal and intimate before, and I couldn’t imagine it being anybody else.” The redness subsided only slightly, but the smile on his face went from amused to warm—maybe even loving. The hand that only lightly grazed yours now grasped it, trembling yet firm.
“I… You like it? You don’t… hate me for it, or anything?” You asked tentatively, shoulders beginning to drop and tears no longer threatening to fall from your eyes.
“I love it. Though, I could think of one thing that would make it better,” he spoke with a teasing tilt now, sensing that your anxiety was abating. “Tonight—now, if possible—do you want to go on a date?” At the words, you burst out into a wide grin.
“Absolutely not.” You pulled your hand away from Stephen’s and stood, placing your hands on your hips. The shocked look on his face only served to make the smile on your face bigger.
“It’s not your birthday until tomorrow, and this is supposed to be a birthday present! Unfortunately for you, I don’t give early gifts.” You reached for his hands and tugged him out of his chair into a standing position, the man now wearing a smile that was smaller in size in comparison to yours, but held the same amount of bliss. You turned away, made a portal to his room, and lightly pushed him in.
“You don’t get to listen to my playing until tomorrow, got it?” At this, the sorcerer rolled his eyes and pulled you into the portal too, holding you close with hands at your waist.
“What about a preview kiss? Can I have one of those?” He leaned down until your faces were so close he could graze the tip of his nose against yours, and could feel your breath. Unsurprisingly, it smelled like dinner, but he couldn’t bring himself to care at that moment. You made a similar movement, leaning up until you felt the scratchiness of his facial hair, made a humming sound as an indication that you were about to bring your lips to meet his, and left a peck right on the corner of his mouth before pulling away entirely to step back into the other side of the portal.
“I’ll see you tomorrow.” You waved, took in one last look at the Sorcerer Supreme standing there, arms wrapped around air, leaning down at an awkward angle, a dazed look on his face as though he hadn’t processed what just happened quite yet. Then you closed the portal.
Stephen ended up staying in that position in the middle of his room for about a minute before finally unfreezing, and let out the most genuine laugh he’d had in a long while. Although he could’ve easily made a portal to go back to the library and get revenge on you, he decided to listen to your words and eagerly got ready for bed, mind racing with all the ideas of what he could do for his first date with you, his violinist.