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Fyodor always immensely disliked being in the orchestra pit for the university’s musicals. It was always a much smaller ensemble made up of first and sometimes second chairs, excluding most of the general orchestra ensemble. This meant Fyodor was usually the only cellist, and he was always sat directly behind Dazai, instead of having several rows of violins and violas between them. It annoyed him enough that Dazai, as first violin, was considered the concertmaster, but these smaller settings is when Dazai truly became insufferable.
Fyodor also held an extreme distaste for musical theater. The music was never as sophisticated as 18th and 19th century orchestral music, and he had to put up with his least favorite breed of performing arts major, theater kids. This semester they were putting on The Phantom of the Opera, which Fyodor had to admit contained some pieces that were not the worst he’d played. Nothing could take that last place spot from Once Upon a Mattress, which he played on last year. He hated that musical more than anything else.
The Phantom of the Opera was apparently a very difficult musical, as rehearsals for that started up a lot sooner than they usually would. They’d only had a couple of orchestra rehearsals when this smaller ensemble was expected to start meeting to prepare the musical. They were also rehearsing in the actual pit, which was exceedingly unusual, and fascinated Fyodor. He’d have to look into the reason for that later. Was someone else claiming the orchestra room during this time? Fyodor would have to fix that if that were in fact the case.
Fyodor was there twenty minutes early, as usual, tuning his cello, and watching the other members of the ensemble slowly arrive. He was a little surprised when Poe arrived, early as always, and sat in the second clarinet chair. Poe had been the first clarinet for the last several semesters, so Fyodor was intrigued by the promise of new blood. Specifically because he knew that it wasn’t going to be the previous second somehow auditioning better than Poe did. Steinbeck was simply not good enough for that. Which meant there was someone new.
Fyodor hadn’t noticed anyone new in orchestra rehearsals, but wind players were always sat behind the strings, and with everyone else there it was harder to see who all was there. The information Fyodor was able to gather when he could actually see everyone was the one good thing about musical rehearsals.
Fyodor chatted idly with Sigma, as others arrived. Sigma was nice, and Fyodor liked him well enough. He sort of embodied his instrument as a viola player, mild, pretty, easily forgotten. It made him the perfect person for Fyodor to chat with, so that he doesn’t seem too arrogant to speak with his peers. Being disliked by too many of your classmates can seriously impair your career. Fyodor played a very interesting game of balancing disliking all of his peers while ensuring they don’t dislike him.
When the new clarinet player showed up Fyodor was even further fascinated. He was young, frazzled and he seemed stressed, though he was still early enough to be completely ready when they started. This must be Atsushi Nakajima, the new protege that Dazai took on. Dazai had told Fyodor about his plans to get his new friend from Japanese Literature to join the orchestra, conveniently leaving out the instrument Nakajima actually played.
There were a couple of reasons that Fyodor assumed this was the new instrumentalist in question. He was clearly quite talented if beat out Poe for principal. However, he was clearly new to this type of environment, if how scared he seemed was anything to go off of. Add to that Dazai’s odd affinity for the clarinet (Fyodor remembered the old student he had that used to play it), and really this could be no one else.
As per usual, Dazai showed up at the last possible moment, violin already out and presumably tuned. He sat down with a grace Fyodor knew was feigned and started chatting animatedly with Sigma and the one violinist that sat between them.
This was a slightly bigger pit orchestra than Fyodor was used to. There were two of almost every instrument in the room. This went back to the supposedly difficult nature of the musical. Dazai must be a little upset that he’s not sitting next to Sigma anymore. When there’s only one violin and one viola, those two use that chance to talk to each other as much as physically possible.
Fyodor smiled to himself. Any mild inconvenience for Dazai brightened Fyodor’s day. And what an inconvenient day for Dazai it was.
Jouno gave his usual tuning A, as precise as always. Fyodor held a begrudging respect for the oboist, as he was put together and professional in every situation, and he had no problem being mean in a way Fyodor tried to avoid, but always thought about.
Fyodor heard Dazai running a couple of cents sharp, and smirked. Dazai was almost always dead on, so Fyodor was relishing in this brief moment of Dazai struggling.
Then someone peeked into the pit from the stage. Fyodor was very intrigued. Poking one’s head into the pit from this angle would require laying down on the stage and letting your head dangle upside down. What a strange person this must be.
Fyodor stared at the person staring at them from the top of the pit. He had bright white hair that dangled from his head in a long braid. He was wearing something very similar to clown makeup, and had a scar that ran through his left eye, causing it to have a milky white look to it. There was a creepy smile on his face.
He giggled. “You're sharp!”
He was looking directly at Dazai, braid swinging back and forth with his animated movements.
Fyodor watched as a sly smile crossed Dazai’s face. He knew Dazai well enough to see the anger concealed behind that smile.
“And just who are you?”
The man giggled again. “Someone with ears.”
Dazai’s smile slipped slightly, and anyone who knew him, knew that meant there was no good way this could go. Which is probably why Sigma spoke up before he could.
“Dazai, please. You were a little sharp. Let’s not get all worked up.” Sigma’s voice was soft and soothing, and it could calm just about anyone down. Dazai was no exception.
He was quiet enough that the strange man shouldn’t have heard him, but he must have. He called out, voice much lower and rougher than it was a second ago.
“Oh, I like you.”
Sigma flinched, and Fyodor hid his amused smile. It seemed Sigma had made a new friend already, even if this man seemed to be the opposite of someone Sigma would like to associate himself with.
Fyodor couldn’t help but find the man a little charming. Anyone who bullied Dazai like that was worthy of his time, even if they looked like a reject party clown.
Then he was gone, as fast as he came, only before he left, he made eye contact with Fyodor and winked. Fyodor lost every positive thought he’d had for the other man. So what if he bullied Dazai, he was clearly incorrigible, and Fyodor would not acquaint himself with someone like that.
The rest of rehearsal went as planned, and Fyodor thought nothing of the odd man until several weeks later when they were first rehearsing with the actors.
The strange man from before was playing the Phantom himself, and he couldn’t hold a tempo or sing the correct rhythms for the life of him. Constantly fast or slow, or holding some notes longer than they should be held, and taking pauses that weren’t in the score.
Their conductor, Dr.Fukuzawa (everyone called him President for a reason no one really understood or knew, It started years ago) was trying desperately to follow along and keep the orchestra with him. It was definitely not the most successful rehearsal, but they did okay given the nonsense they were expected to play with.
The worst part was that Fyodor slightly understood the musical choices the man was making. It was like a soloist that is impossible to accompany, but you have to admit is really good. He sounded incredible, and if Fyodor was being honest, the rubato he decided was there added something to the character.
However, it was the most frustrating thing to try to keep up with. Fyodor, like most other things, took it upon himself to fix it. He was sure he could talk the other man into learning the rhythms with a little “nudging” (read: manipulation).
When Fyodor cornered the man after rehearsal, he seemed a little too happy to talk to him.
“Hello.”
The man responded with far too much enthusiasm. “Hi! You play the cello for the musical, right?”
Fyodor nodded. “Why, yes. How would you know that?”
He gasped. “You don’t remember me, Mr.Cellist??? After all the effort I went through to make a lasting impression.”
“You mean winking at me?”
“You do remember!”
Fyodor sighed. He was already regretting this. A slightly less irritating performance was not worth this.
“I suppose I do.”
“Well that’s wonderful! I’m Nikolai, it’s a pleasure.”
That was curious. Nikolai didn’t have an accent most of the time, but he said his name with the tongue of a slavic person. Then there was the name itself, ‘Nikolai’ was Russian in origin, and most popular to this day in his home country.
Fyodor tilted his head slightly. “Where are you from, Nikolai?”
Nikolai pretended to swoon. “I haven’t heard my name said correctly in so long.” He straightened up. “I’m from Ukraine. And you? Do I get a name and origin for the handsome man I’m talking to?”
Fyodor hid a grimace. If he wanted something from this man, he’d have to put up with his disgusting flirts. “Fyodor. My name is Fyodor. I’m from Russia.”
Nikolai shrugged. “Shoulda guessed. You sound Russian.”
“I suppose I would.” He pauses. “Well, Nikolai, I wanted to ask you about your performance today.”
“Please keep saying my name, pretty boy.” Nikolai giggled at whatever expression broke through Fyodor’s mask. “I’m just playing with you. What did you want to know?”
Fyodor forced the revulsion off his face, yet again. “I was just curious about the tempos you were taking.”
Nikolai outright cackled at that. “You want to know if I’m fucking up the rhythms and singing at odd speeds intentionally.”
Fyodor was taken slightly off guard by that. He wasn’t exactly expecting the strange man to be so self aware. “Yes, that sums up my line of questioning quite well.”
“I don’t think you’d understand.”
“You doubt me.”
Nikolai smirked. “Alright. I’ll bite. It’s about freedom. I find notated music restricting.”
Fyodor paused for a second. He wasn’t expecting that, Fyodor was almost impressed that this man had taken him by surprise a couple of times. Fyodor just couldn’t get a read on Nikolai the way he could everyone else he’d met (besides Dazai, but to be fair that’s why Fyodor spent so much time with him).
“Ah. You find freedom in making music the way you see fit.” He may not have a complete read on Nikolai as a person, but this was fairly self-explanatory. Just the idea of freedom in this context was enough for Fyodor to get it.
Nikolai gestured for him to continue.
“I’m guessing music was something you were raised with, given your Ukrainian roots, you were most likely raised Catholic, listening to cyclic mass and religious hymns. Now music has been something you’ve reclaimed, something you find joy in. But only when you’re singing how you’d you’d like instead of how you’ve been told. You seem to resist God and struggle to lose yourself.”
It was an almost boring story for such an interesting man. Fyodor was disappointed. He almost expected something that would intrigue him, but by Nikolai’s reaction, the most obvious reason was the correct one.
Nikolai was looking at him as though he’d hung the moon. “Fedya, I’m impressed. No one’s ever understood me so well.”
“Do not call me that.”
“Awwww, but it’s so fun!”
Fyodor rolled his eyes, and turned around. “I’ll be on my way.”
“It was lovely meeting you, Fedya!”
Fyodor regretted this conversation already.
Opening night was hardly a big deal to Fyodor. He’d had the music down since they started, and he hardly cared how the performance went. He’d play well, and everything else was little more than minor details.
So even though opening night was tomorrow, he answered very mildly when Sigma asked if he was ready.
“Yes of course. Are you?” He knew that this was common and unavoidable small talk in ensembles. ‘Golly-gee-whiz, that rehearsal sure was hard!’ and ‘Big concert coming up! You ready?’ were the awkward starts of more rehearsal conversations than Fyodor could count. He hated it, but he always responded in kind.
Sigma nodded. “I’m not too worried. The music isn’t too hard, so long as Niko doesn’t do anything too crazy day of.”
“Niko?”
“Nikolai. He plays the phantom.”
Fyodor shook his head. “Yes, I know who Nikolai is. I was wondering why you call him such an ugly nickname.”
Niko was decidedly not the slavic nickname, and it took the Russian nature from the name. Fyodor found himself mildly annoyed to hear it.
Sigma shrugged. “Most of the theater kids and his friends call him Niko.”
“And you’re his friend?” That was surprising. Nikolai hardly seemed the type Sigma would befriend.
Fyodor was proven right when Sigma grimaced. “He seems to think so. He keeps finding me at the student union and eating with me. I can’t figure out how he knows when I’m there, I think he may be stalking me. But ignorance is bliss when it comes to Nikolai, so I don’t want to know.”
Fyodor smiled. “I suppose he has taken a liking to you.”
“I’d rather he hadn’t.”
Fyodor chuckled. “I’m sure he’ll get bored eventually.”
“It could be worse, I guess. At least he’s interesting.”
Fyodor agreed wholeheartedly. It was the one thing he appreciated about the other man.
Opening night, Fyodor found his eyes glued to the screen in the pit that allowed the musicians to see the stage. He’d never cared to actually watch the musical, but this time he was enraptured.
There was something about actually watching Nikolai perform that was distracting to Fyodor. He’d never understood why Nikolai was so popular before this. In the time they rehearsed together, Fyodor noticed the way Nikolai always had men and women swooning for him. Fyodor was completely lost on the appeal. Until now. Now he could put himself in their shoes. He could see the appeal others saw in him.
He was an imposing force with the singing voice of an angel. His acting was incredible, and he played the role like it was made for him to play. Fyodor watched, as he sang The Music of the Night. His range was very impressive and the emotion he managed to sing with was to be envied.
The final scenes, though, are when Fyodor truly understood. Watching Nikolai cry, as he clutched a toy monkey to his chest, Fyodor briefly felt something. He’d been moved, and he had never felt that before. Fyodor was genuinely impressed, as he barely felt things in real life, and never did for fiction, yet Nikolai had changed that.
Fyodor finished playing the music for the bows completely lost in thought. He couldn’t stop thinking about the look of pain on Nikolai’s face. This time it was fake, but Fyodor found himself longing to know what real suffering would look like on the other man. It would be lovely, he was sure, his makeup would actually smudge, face flush, genuine tears stream down his face. Fyodor wanted nothing more than to see it. He needed it deep in his bones. Needed to see the other man broken, usual smile replaced by pure devastation.
Nikolai had always had a very clear and upbeat personality that didn’t allow for much pain, but Fyodor knew an act when he saw one. He was struck with the thought that he actually cared to see behind it. That had never mattered to him before.
After the show, Fyodor was compelled to actually compliment Nikolai on his acting. He’d never done that before either. Something about Nikolai made Fyodor feel the need to act differently.
He packed up his cello with no rush, knowing that Nikolai would be staying up front for a while basking in the attention he was getting for his performance. He locked his cello into his instrument locker, and made his way to the front of the performing arts building, where everyone else would be congregating.
However, Fyodor got distracted on his way. He passed the theater rooms on his way, as they were in the same hallway as the locker room. He noticed, as he passed, that there was someone in the open green room. He looked closer and noticed that it was actually Nikolai sitting in the dark. He was just sitting quietly, not doing anything, head tilted back and eyes closed.
Fyodor was surprised. He would’ve expected Nikolai to still be out speaking with “adoring fans,” not sitting by himself quietly backstage. He stepped into the room quietly, but Nikolai noticed his presence immediately, head shooting towards him, and a sly smile crossing his face.
“Hey there, Fedya, like the show?”
Fyodor had never seen Nikolai like this. He was wearing a loose black t-shirt and sweatpants, hair in loose curls around his face instead of in his usual braid. There were remnants of stage makeup around his eyes. He was wearing his usual smile, but there was something tried and withdrawn in his eyes. Fyodor was struck by how correct he was, Nikolai was absolutely beautiful behind the mask.
“It was adequate. Why are you out here by yourself?”
“Awwwww, are you worried about me?”
Fyodor sighed. “No. Just curious.”
Nikolai’s smile dropped ever so slightly. “It’s really not a big deal. Let it go, handsome.”
“Alright, but not because you tried to distract me by flirting.”
Nikolai chuckled.
Fyodor continued when Nikolai didn’t respond. “By the way, your performance today was very impressive.”
Fyodor tilted his head when Nikolai flushed. He figured the man that so brazenly flirts wouldn’t be so shy.
“Thank you. I’ve never heard you compliment someone before. You must be falling in love with me.”
Fyodor scoffed. “You’re incorrigible.”
He turned around, walking away incredibly annoyed.
“You’ll fall for me someday! I know it!”
Fyodor ignored him and kept walking, but he felt heat rising in his face. What could that be?