Chapter Text
(Art by: Persuade_me)
There it was again.
Gendry heard a piano coming from the other side of his living room’s wall, the one that connected to the apartment next door, where someone had recently moved in if workers shoving boxes and furniture into it when he arrived from work the week before was any indication.
Don't get him wrong, he has no problem with his new neighbor playing the piano, they did it well, and they didn't do it at hours when it was disrespectful to do so. But, listening to them play made him travel back to memory lane, to that small apartment he shared with his late mother, whose most prized possession was a beautiful piano console that she had inherited from her grandparents and that she had had to sell in order to pay the very expensive cancer treatment
It had been rather useless.
His mother loved playing the piano, it was her greatest passion, but her financial situation never allowed her to dedicate herself to music professionally, having instead to work serving drunks in a bar. Gendry also loved music, perhaps because the afternoons of his childhood were accompanied by it, his most treasured moments being those in which he sat on the bench next to his mother while her fingers slid over the keys, admiring the effortless way in which she created beautiful melodies.
He had learned the basics of playing the piano, it would have been impossible not to, but after his mother’s passing, he hadn’t been able to play a note on this instrument without breaking down in tears, and therefore turned his desire to make music to learn how to play the guitar.
The guitar was safe, his mother had never learned how to play it.
However, like his mother, he had not become a professional musician, as although he was passionate about it, he knew it wouldn’t pay the bills. So, he studied architecture instead, thanks to the support he received from his foster family, and to the fact that said program provided him with a partial scholarship paid by the government to get a degree, which (in his opinion) was the only redeemable thing in the whole situation.
But he would play sometimes, mainly when he needed to calm down after a stressful day at work, or when he had to do the design for a building but wasn’t inspired, as this always sparked his creativity. That afternoon his neighbor was playing a well-known song, one that he had memorized on his guitar when he was just learning how to play this instrument, and which had always been one of his mother's favorites.
Impulsively, he got up from his desk (his most recent project being forgotten) and went to get his guitar from his bedroom, returning to the living room with it in his hands and sitting on the floor with his back against the wall. And then he closed his eyes, and the image of his mother reappeared in his head, sitting there in front of her piano with her head bowed as her fingers slid over the keys, making her blond hair cascade down on either side of her face.
He felt at home.
Unconsciously, his fingers slid down the strings, playing the chords so softly that they made no sound so as not to alert his neighbor, imagining that he was doing a duet with them. And then, not realizing what he was doing until it was too late, he started playing the guitar for real, matching his chords perfectly to the sound coming from the other side of the wall, until it suddenly stopped.
Shit, shit... shit.
He, too, stopped playing and turned to look at the wall.
Had his neighbor gotten angry because he had interrupted them? Would they think of him as some creep? After a couple of minutes of total silence, he opened his mouth to say "I'm sorry" to the wall and to get up to continue with his work, but before a word came out, the piano played the same song again.
He did not join them this time, and apparently, his neighbor wanted otherwise, because less than a minute later they stopped playing and started the song again.
Were they asking him to play with them?
Tentatively, he played his guitar again, catching up to the rhythm set by the piano on the other side of the wall, and when it didn't stop again, he continued to play with them, gaining confidence as the song progressed, smiling broadly when it ended.
His neighbor didn't continue playing after that, though.
A couple of days later, he found a note on the floor in front of his front door as soon as he entered his apartment.
Tomorrow at 6:00 p.m.?
Do you know River Flows in You?
Hit the wall twice if yes.
- Arry.
He knew the song, but had never played it, and yet he walked up to the wall and gave it a couple of knocks, receiving one in response.
That night he downloaded the sheet music for that song and took advantage of the fact that it was Sunday and that he had planned to spend the day with his foster family, to bring his guitar to their home and practice there without his neighbor discovering that he did not know how to play it.
"I haven't heard you play for a long time," Davos, his foster father, told him when he entered the balcony where he was rehearsing, bringing a plate of cookies with him. "I came to think that you didn't want to do it anymore."
"I came to think the same thing," he replied, taking a cookie from the plate. "But a couple of days ago I played again and got hooked again."
Davos smiled.
“And what made you pick up the guitar again?” he asked with sincere curiosity, and Gendry shrugged, before telling him what had happened with his new neighbor and confessing that he needed to learn that song so he could play it with them that night.
That caused both to laugh.
"And do we know if the neighbor is a ‘he’ or a ‘she’?"
“Does it matter?” Gendry asked after shaking his head in response, and his foster father shrugged.
“Not really, but wouldn't it be great if she was a pretty girl that you connected with through music? My beloved Marya would be very pleased.”
Gendry laughed it off.
His foster mother was a master matchmaker.
“They signed the note as Arry, so I guess it’s a guy.”
“What a shame.”
That night he played with his neighbor, the notes of the song flowing through his fingers as if he had played it all his life, and that it hadn’t been only in those last twenty-four hours that he had learned it.
When the song ended, all he heard was silence, and it lasted for so long that he wondered if that had been it, if his neighbor had only played that song with him and when they finished, they had gone to continue their usual activities as if nothing. But then he heard his doorbell ring, and he jumped, before staring at the front door with eyes wide open. Had they come to speak directly to him? Were they mad at him? Had he done it so terribly? With the sole purpose of apologizing, he got up and walked to the door, finding another piece of paper folded on the floor, as if his neighbor had slipped it under his door.
Still, before picking it up, he opened the door to try to see his neighbor, finding only the empty corridor.
That was fun, let’s do that again.
Thursday at the same time?
It’s your turn to choose a song,
So, pick one and send me a message with your choice.
Good night,
-Arry.
He read the message a couple of times and smiled, it was nice to have a musical buddy with whom to do improvised jam sessions, although he had not spoken directly with them, and these sessions were held with a wall in between.
The next morning, before leaving for work, he slipped the note with the name of the song he had chosen under his neighbor's door, and then headed for the elevator.
‘21 Guns’ by Green Day.
-Gen.
“Let me help you with that,” he came rushing to help a girl who was struggling to get the shopping bags from the back of her car, as they were so many, and she was too tiny for her own wellbeing.
Seriously, she looked like a pixie.
A very gorgeous pixie, he must add.
“Don’t worry, I can do it myse─” she started to say, trying to get the bags from his hands, but then as her eyes found his face, she seemed to change her mind. “Sorry, I mean… thank you,” she said after a couple of seconds, showing him a bright smile.
He smiled as well.
“You’re welcome,” he replied, and for a while there it seemed like the whole world had suddenly stopped moving.
God, yes… she was gorgeous.
“I have to─” she spoke bringing both back to the present, and he swore in his head. has he made her feel uncomfortable? He prayed that he hadn't. “My brother and his girlfriend are coming for dinner and─” she continued, and he nodded.
“Yeah, yeah… you’re right, sorry,” he started to say even though he didn't know why he was apologizing, for being stunned looking at her? For keeping her in the building's parking lot when she surely more important things to do? He sighed. “Come, there’s a shopping cart they keep here in the building so you can carry your shopping bags to your apartment,” he explained, guiding her to the lift while carrying her groceries, guessing that she had recently moved there if she didn’t know about it. “You just have to take it back down here when you finish using it.”
With a movement of his head, he pointed to the door of a closet that was next to the elevator, and when she opened it, she smiled, as she had found the object that he had told her about, pushing it until it was next to him, so he put her bags in it. He would gladly accompany her to her apartment, no matter what floor it was on, but he had arranged to go eat with his cousin and she would not be long in coming to pick him up.
Apparently, his truck was not appropriate for where she had planned them to go.
“Thank you again, I… uh,” she said as she called the elevator, her pause telling him that it was the right moment to introduce himself.
“I’m─”
“There you are!” His cousin's voice interrupted him, and he turned to look at her, watching as she approached in his direction with a wide smile on her face. "Come on, we'll lose the reservation at the restaurant.”
“Reservation?” he asked looking at her, what kind of place she was taking him to if they needed a reservation?
He looked down at his own clothes.
Right, he was wearing slacks and a button up, but he wasn't wearing a tie or anything like that, and this place sounded like he was going to need it. Mainly because his cousin looked like something out of a fashion magazine in that fitted dress, heels and an expensive coat.
“Oh, come on! Don’t be like that,” she said shaking her head. “We haven't been able to spend a lot of time together lately, so let me take you to a nice place… please? Also, don’t worry, you are perfectly fine with what you are wearing,” she added, giving him a hug.
Gendry sighed.
Shireen was the only member of his biological’s father family who was close to him, the rest of his family… including his own father, ignored him completely, as if he didn't exist.
He always knew who his father was: a very important politician, who had even campaigned for the presidency of Westeros, although he had lost to his own cousin, Rhaegar Targaryen. His father, Robert Baratheon, also knew of its existence. But, due to the scandal that it could represent that he had a child out of wedlock, and the negative repercussions this could bring to his career, he never acknowledged it, allowing him to be put into the system after his mother died.
It was only years later that he found out from Shireen that the Seaworth’s signed up as foster parents solely so that they could give him a real home, since Davos had worked for her father and one day he overheard an argument between the two brothers, in which he found out of his existence, and that they didn’t plan to do anything to prevent him from ending up in foster homes.
She also found out about him after eavesdropping on her father and uncle, and went to ask Davos about it afterwards, so he confessed that he lived with him and promised to introduce them.
That had been some years ago.
Now she was the only family, other than the Seaworth’s, that he had.
“Ok, fine… just let me─” he turned to finish his introduction to his gorgeous neighbor, but she wasn’t there anymore.
He swore under his breath.
“Yeah, he was handsome,” she spoke to her tablet, the screen of which showed her sister, as she arranged her groceries in her cupboard drawers. “Tall, fit, with shiny black hair and beautiful blue eyes that should be outlawed... but he has a girlfriend. Besides, we only talked for like for a minute, I don't even know his name or what apartment he lives in.”
Her sister rolled her eyes, a gesture that would have bothered Arya once, but those childish quarrels were already forgotten and therefore that gesture had ceased to seem offensive.
“Are you sure she’s, his girlfriend?” she asked, and at that moment the little baby she was carrying began to make noises and to pull her reddish hair, causing the eldest of the sisters to groan, and the youngest to laugh. “Your aunt finds it funny that you hurt me,” she spoke to the baby, and then looked up at the camera. “As I was saying before this little monster attacked me, it must have been his sister or something like that ... didn't you tell me that she also had black hair and blue eyes? Perhaps you just made the biggest mistake of your life by getting in the elevator without waiting for him to introduce himself.”
Sansa was correct, but Arya decided that she was not going to agree with her even if she was dead, so she chose to change the subject.
“How’s Theon?” she asked, as she closed the cupboard door and turned to focus her attention fully on her sister.
“Smooth,” Sansa acknowledged her way of changing the subject, before smiling and starting to tell her about her husband, and about their plans to go to Pyke so that his father and sister could meet their little girl. But, if Arya had thought that she would make her sister forget about her neighbor, she was terribly wrong. “Look for him,” Sansa told her in the middle of their goodbyes.
“Who?” she asked her, as if she didn't quite know who she was talking about.
Her sister shook her head.
“You don't fool me; you know who I'm talking about,” she accused her. “Look for him, maybe you can ask a nosy neighbor or something like that, they always know everything… and send Bran a hug,” she concluded, and only there Arya remembered that her brother and Meera were supposed to be there in less than an hour.
Shit!
Dinner with her brother was going great.
She and Bran were the only Stark siblings who ended up living in King’s Landing, as Robb, Sansa and Rickon were still in Winterfell, although the latter was studying at White Harbor University, so he only went home on holidays and long weekends.
Bran was beginning a career in politics, following in the footsteps of their father, who had died several years ago in a car accident when he, their mother, and Bran were leaving a charity event. It was snowing that night, and some idiot forgot to make sure his brakes were working before he went out to drive in such conditions.
Their mother was largely unharmed in the accident, but Bran had ended up immobilized from the waist down, and their father... well, she had already said what had happened to him.
After that, her brother Robb had taken over the family business and charities, because even though physically their mother had not been injured, losing her husband had killed something inside her, and therefore there were many years where she was there without really being there.
Lately, the siblings had seen her smile again with her grandchildren, Robb’s and Sansa’s children, so Arya hoped she could get back a bit of the mother she remembered having before that accident, even if it meant that she would judge everything she did as she used to do.
Sansa, on the other hand, had become a renowned fashion designer and married Robb's best friend, while she… well, she had fulfilled her dream of traveling the world.
Arya was an anthropologist, and had worked for a time in the Riverlands, then in various places in Essos, and finally in the south of the country. But she had already gotten a little tired of going around without stability, so she had accepted a job at the National Museum of Westeros History, and thus she had moved a few weeks ago to King's Landing.
“When are you going to finish unpacking?” her brother asked her, while with his wheelchair he evaded a still closed box that for now had served as a coffee table, as they settled into the little living room to chat after finishing dinner.
Arya heard Meera chuckle.
“Don't start talking like a mom, you know that I moved very recently, and with all the work I have in the museum I haven't had much time,” Arya explained, and looked at Meera as she walked over to her beloved piano, looking closely at the music sheet she had placed on it.
“It’s a great song, but I prefer boulevard of broken dreams, honestly,” she said, and went to sit in the couch next to which Bran had decided to place his wheelchair.
his brother raised his eyebrows.
“Are we playing modern music now? "She asked, and Arya rolled her eyes from her.
"Green Day can barely be filed as modern music," she told him, also taking a seat, with a bottle of wine and three glasses in her hand. "And, much less that song, that’s a classic," she added, thinking that it was better not to explain the precise reason why she was learning that specific song.
"It's more modern than what I'm used to hear you playing," he replied, accepting the glass she offered him with a smile, and taking a sip of his wine before turning back to her. "Which, just for the record, is not a complaint."
Arya nodded.
She has loved playing the piano from a very young age. Her father was the one who taught her the basics, but soon her skills surpassed his, so he had to hire an instructor, a famous Braavosi pianist who had become one of her greatest confidants and friends.
She missed him greatly.
“Noted,” she replied with a smile, and then took a sip from her own drink. “I’m playing it because my neighbor suggested it,” she explained, pointing at the wall she shared with the guitarist.
“Nice, is he cute?” Meera questioned, and Arya shrugged.
“No idea,” she replied, and after noticing the confused expressions in both she laughed. “He plays the guitar, so sometimes we jam together but from our own apartments, and we send each other notes as to decide what to play, but I have never actually seen him,” she explained, and could see the amused smile on her brother.
“That’s… interesting,” he said in that enigmatic voice that he usually uses and that drives her insane.
She knew that if she asked him what was interesting, she wouldn't like his answer, so she didn't say another word.
She liked her impromptu sessions -although not so impromptu lately- with her neighbor, the fact that they could harmonize their instruments without even seeing each other, it was fun to have something like that with someone. Would it be someone her age, or would she be her father's age? With those musical tastes, she could be either option. Was he as attractive as the neighbor who had helped her that morning, or was he just the opposite? In part, that’s why she hadn't gone directly to his apartment and knocked on his door so they could meet face to face, because she was afraid that reality would tear her illusion down.
“Musicians pay pal, I like it,” Meera commented, and she smiled.
She liked that too.