A/N: This is the third part to what I have come to refer to as the 'Rivetra music AU'; reading "Perfect Harmony" and then "Chords of Progression" (both posted on my profile) before reading this would probably be good. I would like to warn you that this is lame and cheesy as heck (but what did you expect coming from me, really) and the writing is super shitty. Also, more notes on this fic at the end.

Petra likes to think of herself as a patient person.

Patience is probably at least half responsible for her skill at the violin; she wasn't born with prodigious talent. She had to work hard and put painstaking effort into her practice, playing passages over and over, listening for mistakes, checking her hand posture constantly. She endured hours and hours of repetitive practicing every day to get to her current level.

She also loves children, and part of the reason is probably because she can stand them more than most people. She doesn't mind their needs, their messes, their tears, even their tantrums sometimes. She can put up with all those with a smile on her face; she thinks children are precious and wants some of her own one day.

And then, of course, she can deal with Levi. And Levi is... Levi.

Yes, Petra thinks she is quite a patient person, but if Levi doesn't just hurry up and kiss her already, she just might burst.

She hasn't had nearly as much experience with guys as most of her friends—she's dated a few before, kissed a few others, though she's never had a very serious relationship—but she's sure she's not just imagining things when she sees his gaze linger a little too long on her lips or his hands hover just a bit too close to her waist. She's known him for quite a while now—nearly a year—and she knows him: his habits, his quirks, his strange OCDs about cleanliness and his outlook on life; he is so much more to her now than just the pianist she idolized a year ago, and she's positive he likes her as more than just a friend.

So she finds it frustrating that ever since that night of his students' recital, he will let her rest her head on his shoulder or put her feet in his lap and he will play with the ends of her hair or rub soothing circles on her skin, but he never does any more than that—but he wants to, she can tell by the way his breath hitches when she leans too close to him or the way he swallows whenever he sees her in anything more revealing than a T-shirt and jeans, and if he doesn't finally do something about it then she just might.

Petra's not sure when she realized her little crush on him had turned into something bigger, but she thinks she's quite obvious about it—surely he should know she wouldn't text him every single day without fail about insignificant things if she thought of him as just a friend—so maybe none of his brilliance at the piano has transferred over to his mind when it comes to women; sometimes she just thinks he's completely dense.

It is these thoughts she is pondering—unfortunately not for the first time—when her phone buzzes on the table next to her. She picks it up, expecting Levi's response to her last text or maybe an update from Rico on how the clarinets at the music shop are, so she is surprised when she sees it is a call from a name she hasn't seen on her caller ID in a long time.

"Hey!" she says, picking up and holding the phone to her ear as she flips open her laptop again. "Haven't heard from you in a while."

"'Sup, Petra?"

She smiles as she logs into her email; she'd recognize Erd's faint Australian drawl anywhere. "Just hanging out at home. What have you been up to recently?"

"I'm actually in New York right now and I have a surprise for you—hey, quit pushing—"

"Petra!" another voice cries from the background, followed by various thumping sounds and a muffled ooph. "Petra, we're all in the city!"

She sits up straight in bed, her laptop falling to the side as she blinks rapidly, email forgotten. "Wait... Auruo? You're here too?"

"And me," a new voice adds. "Hey, Pet. You're on speakerphone."

"Oh my god." Petra tries not to smile too widely as she hugs her knees to her chest, leaning back against her pillows. "What are you all doing in the city?"

They all scrabble to talk over one another, their voices mixing in a cacophony of friendly noise, noise she's so familiar with it's like she's back in school again, studying with Gunter or teasing Erd or arguing with Auruo about which violin concerto was Mozart's best (the fifth, of course; Auruo's always argued for the third).

"One at a time, guys," she says, but she's still smiling; she didn't realize how much she missed them until she heard their voices again.

"Basically," Erd says, suddenly much louder than the others—he must have won the inevitable tug-of-war over the phone—"I'm off-season, Gunter's looking for a new job in the city, Auruo just got back from Peru, and the holidays are barely over yet, so we decided to surprise you—wanna meet up?"

"Of course not." Petra rolls her eyes even though they can't see her. "What do you think, stupid? I'm free right now; where are you?"

Her computer dings and she checks it; it's an IM from Levi, just two words: Fuck Hanji. She snorts (of course Levi would think that's an acceptable way to start an online conversation) and types back: What happened now?

"We're just outside that café we used to go to all the time on weekends—remember that place? Within walking distance from Juilliard? The place with the marble counters and the open kitchen and the—"

"Oh yeah! I remember. Did you guys all just get there?"

Levi's response comes through: If I get signed up for one more shitty composition thing without my knowledge...

The chat window tells her he's still typing, but she interrupts as an idea occurs to her: Hey, you want to meet my friends?

"Wait, hold on," she says into the phone, "would you guys mind if I brought someone?"

"Yeah, sure," Erd agrees. "Someone else from school?"

"Maybe that hot Nanaba chick?—ow, Gunter, what the hell?"

"You know she's dating Mike."

"That weird trumpet player a year ahead of us who likes to sniff people?"

"Yes, that Mike."

Petra can practically see Levi's wariness through her computer screen: ... Which friends? The woodwind players?

She did introduce him to Rico, Nanaba, and Anka before, and though they all seemed to get along well, she thinks ultimately only she can really take Levi's personality in large doses. She distinctly remembers seeing Anka make a face at one of his various comments (and that was when he was trying to be friendly too).

No, you've never met these guys, she types. I told you about them before—my string quartet, remember? You'll like them.

"It's not Nanaba, or Rico, or Anka, or anyone from school," she tells said string quartet, the members of which are goofing off on the other end of the line—it sounds like an impromptu wrestling match has started. "You guys. Remember Levi Stolze? That pianist I like a lot? I performed with him last spring and we've been friends since. I want you guys to meet him."

The scuffling noises die down; there is silence for a brief moment before Erd says, "Levi Stolze? You mean that guy on YouTube you wanted to bang?"

"Erd!" she hisses, trying to stop a dull flush from rising to her cheeks; she usually expects comments like these from Auruo, not him.

"Well, it's true."

You said I'd like that kpop music video. You said I'd like sushi, Levi points out. I didn't.

"Shut up, Erd," she snaps, "You know perfectly well I liked and admired his playing very much. And that's it." Come on, her fingers say, aren't you in Manhattan right now? I know you went to buy new sheets and you're probably at a library printing stuff right now, which is why you're on a computer. I'll send you the address?

"Suuuure."

"That guy's pretty cool," Auruo interrupts. "I'd like to meet him."

"Yeah, bring him, we'll be happy to," Gunter says, and Petra smiles in relief.

"Thanks."

Levi answers a moment later: ... Fine.

Petra smirks triumphantly; at least if there's one thing to be said about the men in her life, it's that she can always sway them eventually.

.

.

.

Petra hasn't been to this particular place in a while now—not since she graduated—but the memories come flooding back when she steps through the door: the shiny countertops, the handwritten signs, the friendly service, the big open windows; all the time she spent laughing and chatting and attempting to study with friends here. She's only just entered when Erd jumps up from the large round table in the far corner.

"Over here!" he calls, waving his long limbs around like the fact that he stood up wasn't obvious enough.

The café isn't too crowded, but there are enough customers inside that he doesn't attract any odd looks. Petra weaves her way through the tables to tackle him in a hug. "Hey!"

"Don't forget us!" Auruo says, he and Gunter standing up as well. She pries herself out of Erd's arms to wrap hers around them affectionately as well.

"You guys didn't get taller, did you?" she demands, knocking her head against their shoulders. "That would be so unfair."

"Even if you grow a lot taller you'll still always be the shortest, Pet," Gunter says, and she whacks him on the arm.

"It's so great to see you guys again!" she says as they all sit down. There is still one empty seat and she tries not to look over at the door, wondering if he'll actually show up—he's never stood her up before and he promised he'd come, but she can't help wondering anyway. "How long has it been since school ended...?"

"Way too long a time that I've been separated from you, baby," Auruo says, and she kicks him under the table. He hasn't had a crush on her for years now but he still likes to flirt with her just for the heck of it.

"Well, you guys have already caught up while waiting for me, so fill me in," she says. "How was Peru, Auruo? How's Martha, Erd; have you proposed yet? What sort of job are you looking for, Gunter? Have you guys seen any concerts lately? Are any of you going to order anything or have you done so already?"

Before any of them can react to her barrage of questions, someone walks into the café, the blurry sounds of the city escaping through the open door for a moment. Petra glances over and immediately stands up, waving her arms just like Erd did.

Levi winces slightly as he makes his way over—probably because of the arm-waving; for someone who plays solos in front of huge crowds all the time, he sure hates attention—and Petra notes with some amusement that he takes the same route she did through the tables. He pauses at the empty chair, eyeing it like he wants to disinfect it before sitting.

She's so glad she took him shopping that one day—colors really do suit him, and though his jacket is black, it is unzipped, revealing the gray of his inside sweater and the dark blue of his shirt, bringing out the lightness of his eyes quite nicely...

She shakes her head to clear it before her friends can look at her too oddly (or, in Erd's case, knowingly). "Hey, Levi. This is Gunter Schulz, cellist; Erd Gin, violist; and Auruo Bossard, violinist as well." She nods to each of them in turn and they all give varying forms of acknowledgement. "And guys, as you already know, this is Levi Stolze and he plays piano." She stares hard at Erd, trying to burn a message through his brain with her eyes: mention anything about banging and I will kill you.

Luckily he seems to get it; he only reaches out a hand to shake. "Great to meet you, Levi," he says easily. "We've heard a lot about you."

"Same," Levi says, and Petra breathes a sigh of relief.

They seem to get along quite well—probably because they're all guys, she decides—and as they order drinks, somehow the conversation comes to be centered around her and various stories involving her: "And then I literally did not see her and asked Gunter where our first violinist was, and she jabbed me with her bow," Erd recalls with a fond grin. "Ah, my ankle still throbs from that pain sometimes."

"You bastard," Petra says as Gunter and Auruo crack up and Levi hides what she's sure is a smile behind the menu (as if he should laugh; he's hardly tall himself). "I did not jab you in the ankle."

"Ah, the foot then. My mistake."

"Shut up before I bring out the viola jokes," she threatens, and Erd shuts up. She can always use his instrument against him.

The waitress arrives with their orders—this place serves some of the best coffee Petra had while in school—and asks them if they'd like any food. Gunter waves her off with a quiet thank you as Auruo asks, "How about you, Levi? Got any stories about Petra?"

"What is this, pick-on-the-girl day?" she complains, but Levi nudges her foot with his below the table and smirks.

"She always looks like she wants to castrate me when I correct her rhythm."

"Oh yeah, she hates that!" Erd chuckles. "I remember when we played the America quartet—Dvorak—she always rushed this one line and every time any of us said something she would look so pissed—"

Petra tries to laugh with them, but her heart is thumping its own unsteady rhythm in her chest and she really hopes it doesn't show on her face. Levi is never the one to initiate physical contact first and—is he flirting with her?

She feels like a middle school girl with a crush again and it's annoying because damn it, she's a grown woman; she should not be this flustered over something so small. But Levi always manages to do something that affects the logic and good reason she knows she has somewhere in her brain.

"Ugh, caffeine," Auruo says, picking up his cup of coffee and looking at it with distaste. "Don't know how you drink it all the time, Erd."

"Decaf is a crime against all coffee—no, against humanity," Petra objects. "It's on the list of things that should not exist, right up there with mosquitoes and sales tax on clothing."

"Coffee is disgusting without cream and sugar."

"Then add some, doofus."

"I usually drink my coffee black," Levi says mildly, and Auruo instantly backtracks.

"I mean... it's not that bad without... I'm just in the mood for something alcoholic right now."

It's funny, Petra thinks, how quickly Auruo has taken a liking to Levi; it's obvious in the way he's already trying to agree with everything the pianist says. Auruo's opinions on people are formed easily, and afterwards they are pretty hard to change. It took her forever to convince him he liked someone else.

He raises his eyebrows, and she knows one of his bad jokes or puns or ill-timed movie quotes are coming. "I'm actually in the mood right now for a martini... shaken—"

"Not stirred," Levi says, taking a sip of his drink.

"Oh boy," Gunter mutters.

"You shouldn't have said that, Levi," Erd says, trying and failing to stifle laughter. "Now he's going to worship you. You don't know how much he loves James Bond and spy movies in general. He freaking called our quartet the 'special ops squad' for a whole year after watching this one old spy film, for fuck's sake."

"I... don't mind James Bond movies," Levi says, reaching into his pocket, and Petra knows that means he likes them a lot but would never admit it. He pulls out a packet of gum and offers it around the table.

Looking at Auruo's face, Petra instantly knows she's going to be competing with him for Levi's attention from now on.

.

.

.

The door of the café has barely closed behind Levi when Auruo bursts out, "Never knew the pianist you listened to all the time in college was that cool."

Erd snickers. "He quotes James Bond, offers you gum, and you've already got a man-crush? Didn't take much."

Auruo throws a wadded-up napkin at him with a glower. "Fuck off."

"He is pretty cool though," Erd relents, leaning back in his chair and letting the paper ball sail past his head to land on the floor. "Doesn't talk much. Has that air of mystery or whatever about him. And he's about her height too. He does seem like the type our Petra would fall for."

Instantly three pairs of eyes turn to her and she fidgets, trying to keep a nonchalant expression on her face. "I don't know what you're talking about."

"Come on," Erd scoffs, tipping so far back the front legs of his chair come off the ground. (If he falls, she's going to laugh her ass off; it'd serve him right.) "We're not blind."

"When he first came in—"

"You stared at him like, 'I want that dick,'" Auruo finishes.

Petra's pretty sure none of her attempts to keep her face neutral are going to work now. "You guys," she snaps. "Shut your mouths before I shut them for you."

"Alright, alright, sheesh," Erd says, raising his hands in a placating gesture. "Just telling the truth."

Gunter, ever the peacekeeper, tactfully changes the subject. "What are you doing with violin now, Petra? Looking for a different chamber group or something?"

She smiles gratefully at him. "Maybe a chamber orchestra, I don't know. I've been doing a lot of community events recently, but it's probably time for something new."

"Are you going to perform any more with Levi?" Erd asks, and she gives him a long look, but there is no more teasing in his tone so she answers.

"I don't know either; the holidays just ended and everything's up in the air right now. I might take some time to myself to really practice hard, try to improve more."

"You could always work more on your rhythm."

Petra makes a face. "Haha. I was actually thinking of working more on intonation."

"But your intonation's good," Erd protests.

"Yeah, when I play... I want to train perfect pitch though. Levi had students for a few months, and one of them was this really talented girl with perfect pitch, and I've been thinking... I don't need it to play violin, but it could help a lot with other music-related things. Like if I ever decided to compose in the future or something."

"Why would you ever want to compose?" Auruo shudders. "That requires theory. Don't you remember how happy we were when we finally finished theory?"

The words because Levi does are on the tip of her tongue but she bites them back, knowing the sorts of comments they would incite. "It's just a thought."

"Actually..." Gunter raises his cup to his lips and downs the last bit of his coffee. "I acquired perfect pitch recently."

Erd drops his own cup to the table with a loud clink; luckily it is already empty. "You never mentioned this before."

"Didn't think it was important enough to."

"Of course it is!" Auruo pounds a fist on the table. "Don't you remember that deal we made each other that one night before our second year? Oh wait—you weren't there, Petra; we were in the guys' dorms—"

"Fair enough," she says, waving him on.

"—and we all decided that if any of us got perfect pitch, we'd help the others get it too. Gunter! You faithless knave."

Petra chokes on a mouthful of coffee. "Have you been watching medieval movies too recently?"

"It took a while to develop," Gunter says. "I was mostly training it while judging youth cello competitions, also during that time I had an internship at that music festival; that was before you went to South America."

"What's this note then?" Erd asks, humming something that sounds like an E-flat to Petra.

"Pretty sure that's an A-flat."

Auruo whips out his phone and pulls up a keyboard app on it. "He's right! Damn."

Erd whistles. "Looks like you got it, mate. Good job."

"I didn't need it to play cello, but it's certainly useful now that I have it," Gunter admits, stacking the salt and pepper shakers on top of each other; he's a bit like Levi in that regard, always looking for something to do with his fingers. "Helps when judging student competitions too; I don't have to look at the scores all the time. I can just hear the notes."

"How'd you train it?" Petra wants to know.

"A lot of repetitive listening—to music, to certain notes on the piano, stuff like that. There was a lot of sitting at the piano and playing one note over and over involved. And it helps when you look for notes in everyday sounds too—an electric toothbrush, the beeping of the microwave. Find out what the notes are and commit them to memory."

"Advice from the expert here," Erd says, clapping his hands; Petra and Auruo join in and Gunter shoots them a briefly amused look as he knocks the salt and pepper shakers over.

She's joking around, but she truly is impressed: her resolve to train perfect pitch has been strengthened and she thinks if Gunter can do it, she can too—and her next thought is that she's going to make Levi help her, of course.

.

.

.

"Why the hell do you suddenly want perfect pitch?"

Petra shrugs even though Levi can't see her from where he sits at his desk, a frown marring his brow, fingers pressed to his temples. "I just do."

"What makes you think I can help you learn it?"

"You're supposed to agree immediately," she informs him, "not question my motives."

He turns to shoot her a deadpan look, but the expression gets caught halfway and something freezes in his eyes for a moment before he blinks, looking away quickly and returning to his computer. She frowns at him, puzzled, until she looks down at herself and realizes she is sprawled in a rather suggestive position across his bed.

Her cheeks feel hot as she sits up, arranging her limbs properly and leaning back against the headboard. He always lets her lie on his bed when she's in his room—he doesn't have any other chairs besides the piano bench, which is still hard and uncomfortable despite the plush black seat—and she's never thought much of it, but really—this is where he sleeps and suddenly she can't help wondering if he moves around a lot in his sleep, if he kicks, if he's a light or heavy sleeper, if he sleeps with clothes on or—

Oh my god, Petra, she chastises herself, forcing her brain back from the tangent it wandered off on. Get a grip.

"You have perfect pitch, don't you?" she says in a rushed jumble of words, hoping conversation will steer her mind back on track.

"Yeah."

"So you can help me learn it."

He taps a few keys on his laptop and curses under his breath. "I was born with it; I didn't train it. I don't know how to train it."

"Gunter said to just listen a lot. To music, to specific notes. He said to sit at a piano and play one note over and over or listen for notes in everyday sounds and commit them to memory—"

"You could try," Levi says, "but perfect pitch is more about the feeling of the notes than anything else."

"Explain."

When he doesn't, Petra slides off his bed to stand next to him at his computer, peering at the screen. He has Sibelius open—personally she likes Finale for composing better—with rows and rows of tiny notes dotting the staffs. The title at the top of the page reads "shitty violin concerto."

"You're writing a violin concerto and you didn't tell me? You know I love violin concertos!"

"It's nowhere near done yet, not even in my head," he grumbles, dropping his hands from the trackpad. "And I have no idea what the kid's skill level is."

"Kid...?"

He sighs and switches windows; she tries not to laugh when she sees another online music forum. (This one, at least, she knows does not have Levi's username blacklisted due to his forceful, unnecessary opinions on many things.) "Some rich-ass banker guy just started his daughter on the violin and is convinced she's a prodigy, and wants me to write a concerto for her in the style of Mozart. She's been playing for less than a year but he's already commissioning pieces for her. Jesus Christ."

"Well, if she's a prodigy, then something Mozart-style shouldn't be too bad, right? I mean, it's not like he wanted... Brahms or something."

He taps his fingers against the side of his laptop as he waits for the page to load. "Yeah, but I haven't actually heard her play and he won't send me a recording—something about how these recordings will be sold for a lot of money one day; the man's an idiot—so I can only guess. And I don't even play the fucking violin."

"Well, I do," Petra says, poking him for his usage of a swear word right before the name of her beloved instrument. "If you need help or anything you can ask me. I'll let you know if your intervals are ridiculous and other stuff like that."

He blinks like he hadn't thought of that. "... okay."

"So now explain what you said about perfect pitch. Something about the feeling of the notes...?"

"Right." He minimizes the window and turns to face her when he speaks. "To me, anyway, it's more like each note has its own... feeling. I don't have the way each note sounds memorized; I just hear a note and it feels like an F-sharp or an E or whatever."

"And you're always right?"

"Always."

He doesn't sound like he's bragging, just stating a fact. Petra stares at him for a moment.

"And you've always been able to do this. Since you first started piano." He nods. "Then how am I supposed to train this feeling?"

"Exactly. I told you, I don't know."

He starts to turn back to his computer but she reaches out and places a hand on his shoulder, keeping his gaze locked on hers. All of a sudden her hand feels too hot, his warmth tingling up her fingers through the fabric of his shirt, and the thumping of her heart sounds too loud in her ears. She removes her hand quickly but the sudden tension is still there, charging the air, crackling in the space between their bodies, and she tugs nervously at the hem of her shirt, hoping he doesn't feel it as acutely as she does.

"Could you... help me anyway?"

Her voice sounds too high, too anxious, and she has to hold back a cringe. He doesn't seem to notice, though; his eyes are fixed on her, and she could swear something sparks there for a moment before he looks away.

"Yeah, sure," he says, the words uneven, and she still can't shake that awkward feeling but she gives him a tremulous smile anyway and he somewhat smiles back.

.

.

.

True to her word, the next time she visits Levi's apartment she brings her violin with her, and she makes him print out the first page of his composition so she can play through it.

"The violin's not a piano, you know," she informs him after attempting and failing to get through the first chord. "You can't throw together any three notes and assume they work; it depends on the strings. And if I can't stretch my fingers that much, I highly doubt a little girl can—how old is she anyway?"

"Eight or something; I don't remember." Levi crosses his arms and scowls at her from his spot on the piano bench. "This is why I'm not qualified to write a violin concerto—Hanji said the man decided to ask me after seeing one of my concerts but just because I can play piano doesn't mean jack shit when it comes to composing stuff for other instruments."

"Don't be so hard on yourself," Petra says, fingers skimming the strings as she sight reads the rest of the first page. "This isn't bad—measure nine has a slightly awkward string switching but it should be okay... I don't know if you wanted this technique in the first two beats of bar seventeen?" She demonstrates for him.

He watches her bow bounce on the string with a faint look of bemusement. "... Sure."

"That might be difficult for a beginner, but as you said, if she's a prodigy..."

"... maybe not then."

She sets her violin down and pins him with a stern frown. "Levi, it's your composition. Be more confident about it."

His fingers drum on the piano bench in syncopated rhythms. "I don't even like Mozart."

She gapes at him. "Take that back! Mozart is one of the most brilliant composers ever."

He pushes the lid of the piano back and runs through a few quiet scales, pressing the pedal as he does; the whole steps and half steps clash even as they resonate through the room. "He is brilliant, I'll give him that much, but his music is too happy."

Petra sticks out her tongue at him. "You don't like Mozart because he's too happy? That's exactly why I love Mozart! He's so uplifting and—"

"Yeah, that's why you like kpop too, isn't it? It's 'cheerful and catchy.'" His voice bleeds into a falsetto at the end and she glowers at him.

"I don't sound like that."

"You don't," he agrees, suddenly stopping on one note in the middle of his arpeggios and letting it ring. "What's this note?"

Her mind blanks; she strains her ears as she tries to remember if the scale he was playing was major or minor but nothing comes to mind. "It sounds like... C?"

He shakes his head and plays it again. "What does this note feel like to you?"

She thinks hard about it—the sound is rich but not too warm, slightly sharp, almost, like sudden rain on a sunny spring day or not enough sugar in her coffee. The more she listens hard to it, the more she realizes it's definitely not solid enough to be middle C, but she's pretty sure her guess was close, so... "B?"

A shadow of a smile ghosts across his lips. "Good." Now that she knows that note was B, she can definitely tell the next one is B-flat. "What's the difference between this and B?"

B-flat is warmer, richer, and for some reason she thinks of Renaissance paintings and ballroom dances. "It's... brighter, but in a more muted way... that doesn't make sense, does it?"

"Anything makes sense when it comes to music," Levi says, and the simple yet profound truth of that statement floors her for a moment. He probably doesn't realize it himself but what he said is so accurate that she has to store it in her brain to think about later, because she could stand here for hours if she tried to think about it now—and Levi is playing another note again.

"People mix up their flats easily," he says, "because they all have a similar tone to them. Why do people mix up notes far away from each other in the scale? Because they feel similar, not because they sound similar. What's this note?"

It's a flat, she can tell that, but she gets lost when she tries to count the intervals from B-flat, since the new note has already filled her ears. "... E-flat?" she finally guesses.

"You're right, but you're not sure. Listen to it and try to find something unique about it that makes it E-flat."

He plays it again and she heaves a sigh before concentrating hard on the sound again. She did ask for this.

.

.

.

Despite his initial reluctance to help, he takes his new role as her perfect pitch tutor very seriously, and he will randomly throw questions at her when she least expects them. "What's this note?" he asks one time as he continues to struggle through his composition, his fingers working away at the keys.

"You're not playing any notes," she points out.

"This note." He taps the spacebar repeatedly for emphasis.

"You're kidding, right? That's not a note. That's a sound."

"Still feels like a note to me."

She squints at him. "I have no idea then."

"E-flat, but it's slightly sharp."

"... Now you're just showing off."

.

.

.

It becomes a ritual, almost—at least once or twice a week she will visit him in his apartment with her violin and help him with his concerto, playing through passages and working out kinks in the music. When he gets tired of it, he will go to his piano and start pressing random keys, forcing her to switch gears in her brain and try to figure out what the notes are.

"You've pretty much got the hang of all the natural notes," he tells her. "It's just when I go to the black keys that you still mess up."

"Well, that's normal, isn't it?"

"Yeah."

There is a strand of hair in his eyes and without thinking about it, she reaches over to brush it away. His eyes flicker to her and then back to the keyboard, his throat bobbing up and down as he swallows nervously, and she doesn't know if she should be mortified by her own involuntary action or amused by his reaction.

Before he can say anything, her phone buzzes and she slips off the piano bench to answer it. She checks the caller ID and raises her eyebrows; it's Erd.

"Be right back," she says, slipping out of the room to answer the call. "Hey, shouldn't you be back in Chicago right now?" she asks as she picks up.

"I am," he says, his voice barely audible due to the loud sounds of various instruments practicing in the background; she winces at the clashing dissonant tones. "We're having a quick break during rehearsal right now and I just had to call you because—you're looking for a job, aren't you?"

"Sort of, I guess." Not very hard, but still.

"Yeah, that's why—you should come audition in Chicago!"

All thoughts of violin compositions and perfect pitch fly straight out of her mind. Her fingers tighten around her phone and she walks further down Levi's hallway, heading towards the living room. "What?"

"Yeah, there are two violin positions open now: one first, one second. I know you prefer playing first but I think either would suit you. The moment I heard I thought of you... I know you like bigger orchestras and you'd love it here, I swear. You should totally come try out."

If she actually makes it in... she lets herself fantasize for a moment: to be an actual member of the Chicago Symphony—they've always been one of her favorite orchestras and she was both exceedingly proud and envious of Erd when he auditioned and made it in. To play some of her favorite symphonies and other pieces with them, to get to know people she's only read about in music journals and online articles, to go on tour with them and travel around the world performing... it sounds like a dream come true.

That's only if you make it in, dumbass, she thinks, and then as she reaches the living room, a shiny plaque on the wall catches her eye: Levi Stolze are the biggest words on it, carved in fancy script across the middle.

Her heart deflates as the implications of the offer sink in: if she actually goes to try out, if she actually makes it in... she would have to leave New York and live in Chicago. Away from her friends, away from her father... away from Levi.

It's so stupid—she's known him for less than a year and already the thought of not getting to see him at least once a week, not knowing that he is just a quick drive away from her apartment, not hearing his low voice and dry comments through her phone every day... she doesn't want to imagine it.

You can still talk to him every day, the rational part of her mind points out, but... it wouldn't be the same.

"Petra?" Erd asks. "What do you think? Come on, I have to go soon."

"It does sound good, Erd," she says quietly. "I'll think about it."

There is a pause on the other end of the line, broken only by loud double-tongued notes from a trumpet. "It's Levi, isn't it," he finally says, voice resigned. "You don't want to leave him."

He knows her too well. "It's not just that... my father—" she begins, but he cuts her off.

"I know you love him, Petra, but you can't let your decisions about your life revolve around a guy you met less than a year ago."

She's too shocked by the first part of his sentence to register the second. "What—what are you talking about—I don't—"

"Don't even try to deny it. I'm not dumb."

She clutches her phone to her ear and leans against the wall, her heart starting to beat faster in her chest. She thinks about Levi: his cold gray eyes, his soft dark hair, the way his fingers dance across the keys—and his crass comments, his strange habits, his utter lack of social aptitude (if it weren't for Hanji he'd be a complete mess, really)—and then the unassuming yet powerful way he pours emotion into his playing, the quiet low tones of his voice as they curl around her name, the many afternoons and nights she's spent with him, just talking, laughing, teasing, having fun, and the way she feels when he looks at her, even if it's just a passing glance, her heart speeding up in an almost frantic rhythm—

"Holy shit," she mutters into the phone. "I guess I do."

Erd snorts. "Don't tell me you just realized? We spent less than an hour at that café and it was obvious as hell."

"I..." She loves her friends, she loves her father, but Levi's always just been Levi. She's never thought of applying that word to him before, but now that she does, it makes perfect sense. And it isn't the love she has for everyone else—it's something different, like the swooping notes of a flute solo in the orchestra or the soaring melodies of the trumpet, not the quiet, steady pulse of the bass and the timpani below everything, something solid she can count on.

No, this love is an entirely different kind, the kind that makes her heart flutter and her pulse quicken, the kind that weakens her knees and steals her breath.

No, as Erd put so eloquently, she's pretty sure she does want to bang him.

"Fuck."

Erd laughs. "Considering how much you usually use that word, I'm guessing you're quite surprised?"

She groans. "I can't believe—Erd, what the—what do I do?"

His tone is more sympathetic now. "I have to go, sorry; my break's almost over. But I'll call you again later if you'd like or email you—just keep my offer in mind. It's your life, Petra, do what you want, but just... do what feels right, okay?"

"Thanks, Gin," she mumbles. "You're cool."

"So are you, Ral. But you know what?"

"What?"

"He's a good guy. I approve."

Petra does not cry easily, so she finds it quite annoying that something like moisture is starting to appear at the corners of her eyes. "... Thank you, Erd."

Someone says something to him on his end of the line and he calls, "Coming!" Then into the receiver again: "Gotta go now; talk to you later. But just one last thing. Petra?"

"Yeah?"

"He loves you too."

He hangs up before she can respond.

.

.

.

Erd's given her a lot to think about, but later that night, as she comes out of the shower and plops herself down on her own bed, her phone vibrates with a new call before she can start dissecting her thoughts properly.

The number is unfamiliar—she doesn't recognize the area code—and she holds the phone hesitantly to her ear, wondering who it could be. "Hello?"

"Miss Ral?"

She gulps; she's only met Erwin Smith two or maybe three times but she would recognize that smooth British accent anywhere. "Mr. Smith! Hello... ah, are you looking for Levi?"

He chuckles, a warm, musical sound. "Yes indeed, Miss Ral, and please, call me Erwin. He isn't picking up his phone and I thought he might be with you."

She thinks of the hurried way she left his apartment earlier that day and bites the inside of her cheek. "No, I'm afraid not. Oh, and... just call me Petra."

"Of course," he says. "I'm afraid I may not have the chance to call again soon, so could you pass on a message to Levi for me?"

"Sure, what is it?"

"Just let him know that he needs to make up his mind by the end of the month before the audition slot closes."

Something heavy settles in her stomach, something sour and unpleasant like an ache or cramp, and her fingers stiffen around her phone. She takes a breath and forces herself to relax before her knuckles turn completely white. "... what audition slot?"

"He hasn't mentioned anything to you?"

"No."

Erwin sounds genuinely surprised. "I thought he would have... he's had nearly a month to decide if he wants to go or not."

No, her fingers will definitely not relax now. "Go where?"

"He was offered an audition by the Birmingham Royal Ballet—they're in need of piano accompanists."

Birmingham. It takes Petra a moment to process the word. "That's in England," she says out loud, and then mentally smacks herself. Yes, Petra, educate the man about his home country, why don't you.

"Yes."

"... He's had a month to decide? He never breathed a word..."

Erwin's tone is gentle as he says, "Perhaps it never crossed his mind when he was with you."

Petra realizes she's talking about something like relationship problems with Erwin Smith of all people—if there was actually a relationship to speak of, anyway—and tries not to make any noises of embarrassment. He's a good man, she's sure of that, but she doesn't know him and she can't help remembering all the associations his name comes with when thinking of him. To think that she's talking about communication problems or whatever with the winner of so many international flute and woodwind competitions makes her want to dive under her covers and hide or at least hang up.

"I guess," she says, and decides to cut the call short before she says anything even more humiliating. "I'll let him know, Mr. Sm—uh, Erwin—"

"Petra?"

Despite telling him he could, she is startled by the use of her first name. "Yes?"

"Levi is bad with women, and worse with friends. You're the only new friend he's made in a long time and he probably doesn't want to ruin that."

The knot in her chest tightens and she finds herself breathing a little faster. Surely he's not saying... he can't possibly mean...

"But if he wants to do something and it wouldn't ruin..."

"He's terrible with women," Erwin says. "The last time he had a girlfriend was before I met him."

Then he does mean...

"Thank you, Erwin," she says, the words falling out of her mouth in a clumsy mess of words; she hopes she doesn't sound too pathetic. But if what he said is true...

She can feel his smile through the phone. "Anytime, Petra."

.

.

.

Maybe Levi thought he upset her last time because he doesn't text or call her again until a few days later, and even then it is short and to the point, even more so than usual: I've finished the violin part of the composition is all he says.

I'll come over tomorrow night at 8? she asks, and after waiting five minutes, her phone buzzes with an answer: Sure.

Despite how much she thought about the offer he got (and didn't tell her about) to work in England, relaying Erwin's message completely slipped her mind. She might as well mention it tonight... and ask him what he plans to do. Dread curdles her stomach at the thought, but it's his life, she repeats to herself, he can do whatever he wants and I'll support whatever decision he makes. After all, an offer from the Birmingham Royal Ballet is not something to be taken lightly.

I'll support whatever decision he makes. Maybe if she says it enough she'll fully believe it.

She knocks on his door around 7:50 PM and waits; five minutes later she knocks again and this time she hears frantic scrambling before the door opens calmly as if he hadn't just rushed to get it.

"Was showering," he says by way of explanation, moving aside to let her in.

Her eyes follow several droplets of water trickling down the back of his neck into his shirt before she tears her gaze away, walking into his bedroom after him and setting her violin down by the door. He shuts it after her and the sound is oddly final, like a firm decision or a last sentence.

Or a good-bye.

She shoves the errant thought aside and focuses on slipping her coat off, opening her violin case, putting her shoulder rest on, taking her time. He stands behind her with his hands in his pockets and watches her tighten her bow, rosin it for good measure, play a few quick warm-up scales, and finally she stands up and faces him.

"I printed it out already," he says, jerking his head towards the music stand in the corner. She studies him—ignoring the way his still-wet shirt clings to his chest—trying to decipher his mood, but his jaw is set and while he doesn't seem angry about anything, he won't meet her gaze.

"Did you finish the piano part?" she says lightly, trying to dissipate the tense atmosphere.

"I wrote the first thirty or so measures of it," he says, "and the last part after the cadenza. So you can practice cueing and see if it's too hard for a kid or whatever."

"Alright," she says, heading for the corner of the room; the music sheets have been printed nicely and are spread out in order across the stand. She looks them over quickly; he does seem to have corrected the mistakes she brought to his attention and the writing seems quite smooth from her once-over.

She lifts her violin and glances at him; he has seated himself at the piano and is watching her, his eyes dark, and she tries to give him a reassuring smile before nodding at him to begin.

The introduction is short and when she comes in, it is right on his beat. Only after six measures or so she completely forgets about the strange uncomfortable feeling in the air, about Chicago and England, about Levi's reluctance to make a move and what it might mean; now that he has edited out the little problems in the music, it flows just as well as any Mozart violin concerto and it is a joy to play, with high, delicate melodies on the E string and low, strong rhythms on the G string; but the undertones of Mozart are still there, clear rhythms and graceful notes that make up the happy sensation she has come to associate with the composer filling her chest.

Levi soon stops playing but she keeps going, and since he has taped out all four sheets on the stand she does not need to stop to flip pages. She likes what he did with the phrasing, and if she were still taking theory she would find the form rather simple to analyze.

The cadenza is harder than the rest of the piece but not by too much, and Petra thinks if the girl it was written for truly is a prodigy then it should be no problem for her. She draws out the second-to-last chord and then looks at Levi for the cue, and nearly falters—she can almost feel the steadfast burn of his gaze on her skin all the way across the room.

She cues him in and he finishes with her, the notes ringing in the room long after he has released the pedal. She slowly removes her violin from her shoulder, their eyes still caught together, until he clears his throat and looks away.

"How was it?" he says, his fingers practically spazzing on the piano keys.

She feels oddly disappointed, for some reason; she doesn't dwell on why as she goes to put her violin away, wiping it down and loosening her bow. "It was good! Very clear and smooth. Just finish the piano part and we can try it again, and I think it'll be good to go."

He exhales, a soft sigh of relief; to anyone else it might have been an irritable huff. "You played well," he says.

"Thanks." And then because she doesn't want to go yet, because she drove all the way here and doesn't want to leave on this awkward note, because she needs to tell him what Erwin said, because she just wants to spend more time with him, damn it all: "Training time?"

He slides to his left, leaving a spot for her on the piano bench, but she overjudges the distance and ends up with her thigh pressed against his. Her heartbeat starts to do stupid things again, flipping and twisting like some acrobat in her chest, but Levi does not move away so neither does she.

She closes her eyes as per usual and he plays a note. "F-sharp?"

"You're close."

It feels... like something hesitant and uncertain, but trying its hardest anyway. Or maybe that's just how she feels right now. "G-sharp?"

"You're guessing."

"No, I'm positive."

"Now you are because I told you."

She glares at him and he scowls back, pressing the note again, harder this time. "Why is this G-sharp?"

He has excellent hand posture for a pianist, perfectly relaxed and rounded, so she doesn't know why his hands are so tight right now, his knuckles white even as his fingers are spread out across the keys. She stares at his right hand, then back at him, and his face is drawn, his eyes full of unspoken words, so she just blurts out: "When were you going to tell me about England?"

His hand drops from the keyboard. "When were you going to tell me about Chicago?"

So he knows. She is surprised for a moment until it occurs to her: "You knew about England for a month! Erd called me about Chicago less than a week ago."

His scowl deepens but he doesn't say anything. Her point is pretty valid, she thinks smugly.

And then: "Who told you?" she demands.

He looks like he won't answer for a second, and she seriously considers tackling him to the ground and tickling him for a response (he's quite ticklish, she's discovered that in the past) until he opens his mouth. "Auruo."

That was not the answer she was expecting. "You've been talking to Auruo?"

He shrugs. "We have... common ground."

Like what, spy movies? she wants to know—not that she's opposed to their friendship or anything—but before she says anything, he mutters, "Who told you about England?"

"Erwin."

His head snaps to her. "You've been talking to Erwin?"

"He called me looking for you. Right, he wanted to let you know that you have to make a decision by the end of the month before the audition slot closes."

"Oh." He scratches the back of his neck and she stares at the corded muscles of his arm for a moment before returning her wandering eyes to the piano keys. "How did he get your number? I didn't give it to him."

She shrugs; she never did wonder about that.

"He's Erwin. I guess that explains it," he mutters, which makes sense.

They fall silent then; he cracks his knuckles while she twiddles her thumbs in her lap, feeling like a silly little girl again. His leg is still pressed up against hers, warm and solid, and she lets herself imagine what would happen if she were to run her hands across it, lean forward, bring her lips up—

"So," he says, his voice thick, and she raises her eyes to his. "What are you going to do?"

What are you going to do? About Chicago, that's what he means, but the words strike home—she has a choice here, she can do something, and she doesn't know what the right choice is, what she should do, but she knows that she loves him and that they both might be moving away, and she can still do something about it right now.

What are you going to do? he asked, and the more she thinks about it, the clearer the answer becomes, so she says, "This," and pulls her hands out of her lap to tangle them in his hair, pulling his mouth to hers.

It is like a dam breaks inside him; his arms immediately wrap around her, pulling her flush against him, his fingers stroking her hair; he kisses back almost fiercely, his lips soft and hard all at once, and he tastes like bleak winters, like scorching summers, like a medley of dissonant chords that make up a precise rhythm, like something perfect due to its imperfections.

He pulls away for a moment and his eyes are—there's no other word for it, really—shining, gleaming bright silver instead of dark gray as he half-laughs, half-whispers, "Petra," and she smiles so hard her cheeks hurt.

She clings to him and he traces patterns across her back—those first circular motions feel like a treble clef to her—his hands gentle, almost reluctant. But she knows Levi, has known him for nearly a year and understands him, his heart, perhaps his soul—and he is not gentle. So she leans back, puts her hands on his shoulders, and says, "I've been waiting for this for months, idiot. Kiss me."

So he does.

.

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A/N: Well, that's it for the music AU, folks. For now, anyway. I don't have a fourth part planned, but who knows, I did get some nice suggestions from people, and I may write short drabbles set in this AU in the future. They'd probably all be posted on tumblr though, not here.

I don't have perfect pitch (relative pitch all the way) so I just played the notes on a piano app and tried to make stuff up. People with perfect pitch have told me before that they 'feel' the notes though instead of memorizing them so I tried to go with that.

My headcanon for Erd is that he moved to the States from Australia when he was ten or so, hence the faint accent. It's almost all gone now though. Also the guy who commissioned the piece for his daughter is Historia Reiss's father. ALSO apologies to anyone in the Chicago Symphony or the Birmingham Royal Ballet I just made stuff up.

Also this isn't actual the full fic... I guess? 'Cause a lot of people have asked me about their first time together and I'd feel like it'd happen right after this? Like directly after, because, well, they've waited long enough, but idk, what do you guys think? Anyway I'll probably post something about that on tumblr soon so let me know if you're interested and I can give you the link. Just fyi, it'd probably be nsfw. Like nothing super graphic but uhhh yeah. I was originally going to include it but I wanted to keep this T-rated here.