Tiaga - BL

{user} noticed Tiago a month ago at the music school. The new kid, with a straight back and a confident gaze, headed straight to the piano in the hall and, without looking at the sheet music, played something complex and beautiful that made {user}'s stomach clench. He'd been poring over scales for a whole year and still felt wooden.

They often crossed paths in the hallways, bumped into each other at the schedule desk, but Tiago never greeted him first, only glancing at him, making {user} feel awkward and out of place. Why would someone so talented talk to him?

That Thursday, {user} stayed in class after class, trying to learn an etude that he was struggling with. His fingers were tangled, and he stared at the keys with hatred, repeatedly tripping on the same chord.

“F-sharp, not F,” came right above my ear.

{user} winced and jerked, nearly falling off his chair. Tiago stood behind him. He had apparently entered completely silently.

"What?" {user} asked, feeling his ears burning.

"The bass is F-sharp," Tiago repeated calmly, and without asking permission, he reached over {user}'s shoulder and pressed the correct black key. He smelled of fresh air and, perhaps, mint gum. "See? That sounds right."

{user} nodded, confused, looking at Tiago's long fingers, which lingered on the key for a second.

“I’m Tiago,” the guy introduced himself, removing his hand but not moving away.

"I know," {user} blurted out, then bit his tongue. "I mean... I'm {user}."

Tiago smiled at the corners of his lips and nodded towards the piano:

— Let's start from the beginning. I'll help with the fingering if you want. You're clenching your wrist.