Chapter Text
The conservatory was never truly quiet. Even this early in the morning, music drifted through the old hallways in uneven fragments, scales from somewhere upstairs, a piano repeating the same passage over and over behind a closed practice room, the distant hum of someone warming up before class. Chopin liked it best at this hour, before the building filled with noise that felt less like music and more like competition.
He was too distracted listening to it all to notice someone turning the corner at the same time he did.
The collision nearly sent the papers in his arms flying. He stumbled back instinctively, tightening his grip before several loose sheets escaped anyway and fluttered uselessly onto the floor.
“Oh, shit. Sorry,” he said immediately, crouching down to gather them. “That was my fault.”
A second pair of hands reached for the papers before he could. “You say that like you’re not clearly the victim here.”
The voice carried an easy sort of confidence that made Chopin look up almost automatically.
Right. Him.
Chopin recognized Liszt instantly, not because they knew each other personally, but because nearly everyone at the conservatory knew who he was. Students talked about him constantly, professors mentioned him in passing, and somehow his name always seemed to appear wherever talent, arrogance, or drama was involved. He had never spoken to him before, though. He had only ever observed from a distance.
Up close, Liszt somehow seemed even more composed than everyone described him to be.
“You dropped half your life onto the floor,” the Hungarian continued casually, holding out a few pages. “I’m pretty sure that counts as suffering.”
Chopin let out a short laugh before he could stop himself. “Thanks for the concern.”
“It’s very heartfelt.”
Something in Liszt’s expression shifted slightly at the sound of Chopin laughing. Interest, maybe. Like he had expected embarrassment or awkwardness and gotten something else instead.
The Pole took the papers back carefully, only noticing then how close they were standing in the middle of the narrow hallway. Their fingers brushed briefly when Liszt handed over the last page. Neither acknowledged it.
“You always carry this much stuff around?” He asked.
“Usually.”
“That seems exhausting.”
“It is.”
Liszt smiled faintly at that, small enough that Chopin almost missed it.
The hallway around them slowly grew louder as more students arrived for morning rehearsals, voices echoing from stairwells and doors opening further down the corridor. Still, Liszt made no move to leave. He just stood there watching Chopin reorganize the mess of papers against his chest with an attentiveness that felt strangely intense for someone he had technically only known for less than five minutes.
Most people looked at Liszt because they wanted something from him. Approval, recognition, attention. Chopin, meanwhile, looked at him like he was simply another student standing in the hallway at eight in the morning.
Liszt seemed oddly fascinated by that.
“You’re staring,” Chopin pointed out absentmindedly.
“You noticed.”
“That’s usually how it works.”
Another quiet laugh escaped B, softer this time.
A hated a little that it sounded nice.
“Well,” A said after a moment, adjusting the papers more securely under his arm, “try not to crash into anyone else today.”
“You walked into me.”
“I remember it differently.”
B stepped aside just enough for A to pass, though his gaze lingered for a second longer than necessary. “I’ll see you around.”
The confidence in the statement caught A off guard slightly. Not arrogant exactly. Certain.
A nodded once before walking past him down the corridor. He only realized several seconds later that he could still feel the brief touch of B’s hand against his fingers, irritatingly clear in his memory despite how insignificant it should have been.