Fever Pitch (14 page)

This would have been a great time to make a move, to act on those instincts he'd figured out at homecoming. Except Giles couldn't, because between homecoming and Thanksgiving, Giles and Aaron became friends.

Intellectually he understood friends and lovers weren't mutually exclusive—his future happiness with a long-term partner depended on that truth, in fact. Giles hadn't ever thought much about how to navigate the
friend
part of a potential boyfriend.

Aaron
was
a friend—but not like Brian or Mina. Giles could flop onto a futon and whine with either one of them because being with his besties relaxed him. Being with Aaron made him feel like someone had ratcheted his tuning pegs to the breaking point. He dressed more carefully for Salvo rehearsal than he did for twenty-and-under night at the Shack. He sat straighter in his chair beside Aaron while they went over compositions than he did in chamber orchestra. He stashed breath mints in the pocket of all his jackets and kept several packs in his instrument locker for fear he might chat Aaron up with taco breath by accident.

His breath and clothes were the only way he could come close enough to Aaron's orbit to even dream of entering it. In addition to being model gorgeous, Aaron was taller than Giles and a lot more filled out, well proportioned where Giles was eternally lanky and awkward. When they worked together at the table in the lounge, Giles would sometimes catch glimpses of their reflection in the mirrored plate between the top and bottom instrument lockers, and the difference between the two of them could have been a comedy sketch. Giles would be hunched over, hair standing on end like he'd stuck his finger in a light socket. Aaron's hair would be messed up too, and he'd be bent over his work as well, but somehow he always managed to look like a model photo in a brochure for how to study. Either that or an opening scene to a porn shoot.

They truly were friends, though—they smiled every time they saw each other, and at a thrilling moment in early December they had, at long last, exchanged numbers.

They were finishing up a Salvo planning session, and somehow the two of them ended up alone in the room. Aaron was packing up his backpack, no real rush, almost lingering. It occurred to Giles this would be a great moment to ask Aaron out.

For coffee. Ice cream. Lunch. A movie. It wasn't hard. All he had to do was open his mouth.

Do you want to go have a latte? My treat.

What are you up to right now? Feel like coming over to play some Xbox?

You hungry? I was thinking about grabbing a burger. Care to come along?

So many ways to make a date, all of them casual.

None of them would come out of his mouth. All Giles could do was stand there, paralyzed.

Aaron glanced up at him and paused with a folder half into his bag. “Is something wrong?”

Say something. You have to say something now.
“Um. I…wondered. If maybe we should exchange phone numbers.”

Aaron went still. “Oh?”

Was that panic on Aaron's face? Revulsion? Surprise?
Mayday. Mayday. Abort. Abort.
“F-for Salvo. In case.” His mouth went dry, his hands became clammy. “Planning. Stuff.”

And what was
that
expression? Relief? Regret? Gas? “Sure.”

They'd exchanged numbers. Neither one had yet to use them.

Giles got
nervous
around Aaron. To-his-bones awkward and unsure. He'd never been shy—the closest he'd come was when he was four and walked up to strangers to announce he was shy, so please don't talk to him. With Aaron, Giles could only dream of being bold. A lot of that, though, was because every time he opened his mouth he feared something stupid coming out of it. He'd tell Aaron how gorgeous he was, how talented, how hot it was when he bit his bottom lip as he worked on a score. Sometimes when Aaron got lost in his work, Giles would sit across the table and stare at him, trying to be subtle as he breathed in deep lungfuls of cologne.

It wasn't just Aaron's body Giles worshipped either, not anymore. Aaron was a freaky genius when it came to music. He didn't seem to get how gifted he was—Giles was no slouch, but he looked like a dummy next to Aaron. Aaron didn't simply have perfect pitch. He understood music theory on some kind of bone-deep level, could
see
notes in a way Giles couldn't follow, not until Aaron put them down on the page. Aaron picked melodies out of thin air, instinctively knowing when to lean on one voice or another, what to put underneath for support. This was
raw
talent too, with only the barest bit of formal training under him. When he got through four years of music classes, he'd be a savant.

Of course, with the preparations for Christmas with Timothy, Giles wouldn't have had time to date Aaron. Between orchestra, chamber, his quartet and now Salvo, the only thing he did besides rehearse was sleep and struggle to keep up in his coursework. The performances were during finals week, which seemed fantastically cruel. His mom was livid because the final performance was Sunday, December 21, which was supposed to be the family Christmas at her parents' house.

There were two concerts at Saint Timothy—Thursday and the final one Sunday—but Friday and Saturday's shows were in Minneapolis. Saturday was at the State Theater, Friday at some crazy-huge Lutheran church in Burnsville.
Before
all these performances there were Christmas with Timothy dinners, where regents and administration wined and dined alumni and potential donors while small groups from all the various choirs and orchestras performed at locales sprinkled around the Cities.

Giles and Aaron only rehearsed together during Salvo, but Giles felt weird if he didn't see Aaron at least four times a day. After scarfing down takeout for dinner in the student lounge, it was the two of them working together, sometimes for hours. Salvo was included in Christmas with Timothy, which apparently had come only after sharp arguments between the Drs. Nussenbaum and the board of regents. Salvo would perform two numbers during the official performance, taking one away from the Ambassadors and adding five minutes to the already epically long production. Salvo would also be part of the preshow dinners.

This meant Giles and Aaron had to have
seven
performance-ready songs. The ones for the official show were Christmas themed, but the dinner pieces were to be modeled the same way as the Ambassadors—a few Christmas numbers bookending the more traditional pop numbers.

It should have been a superhuman effort, but when the two of them worked together, nothing seemed impossible, not when it came to music. The one thing Aaron wasn't great at was filling in who should sing what. Giles had a better understanding of which of the girls would do better on what line. He didn't think it was much of a help, but the girls loved how he arranged them and told him over and over again he made them sound better than they deserved to be. Aaron always seconded them, smiling as he told Giles he couldn't imagine arranging parts without him.

“You're like Gilbert and Sullivan, or Menken and Ashman,” Karen told them one day at the end of rehearsal.

The other girls chimed in with agreement and effusive praise for their talents as Aaron looked abashed and Giles's ears heated at the tips.

Then, in the back of the room, someone whispered a little too loudly, “They should totally be a couple.”

As Giles's blush covered him like an ugly rash and Aaron ducked his head and shrank into his sweatshirt, the girls broke into giggles. Rehearsal was over, so they started filing out, all but Aaron and Giles, who sat frozen at their table.

As Mina passed by, she jerked her head at Aaron and mouthed to Giles,
Ask him out, now.

Giles wasn't sure what the hell he should do. Leaving felt…wrong, but sitting here was all kinds of awkward. He wished he knew what it meant that Aaron still sat there, rigid, with his head bowed. Giles tried to tell himself Aaron was freaked about being outed, except it didn't wash because after Baz,
everybody
knew.

Obviously Giles had gotten that memo long before anyone else.

When the silence got too heavy, Giles cleared his throat.
Say something benign. Just be a fucking human long enough to smooth this over.
“So.”

Are you doing anything for dinner?

Would you like to go out for coffee?

Could I blow you?

Giles got so nervous his jaw ached, sending weird, throbbing bands of nervousness down the front of his neck into his chest until he thought he might be having a heart attack. Speech was out of the question. Now all he wanted to do was not pass out.

Aaron cleared his throat too, but when he spoke, his voice was thick and rough, not its usual melodious self. “I…I've been meaning to ask you something.”

Holy shit.
Giles could barely breathe, let alone speak. “Yes?”

Aaron's hands opened and closed over the music in front of him, crinkling it and smearing the pencil. “I…I wondered if you…if we…”

Ohmyfuckinggod.
Giles felt dizzy. Was it going to happen? Was Aaron asking…? A “Hallelujah” chorus cued up in Giles's head.

Aaron flexed his hands nervously. “I wondered if…you could…give me a violin lesson.”

The “Hallelujah” chorus skipped, scratched and crashed in a fiery inferno to the earth. “You want…violin lessons?”

Giles took a good look at Aaron—flushed cheeks, dilated pupils, the now completely balled-up manuscript paper under his hands. “Yeah.” He sounded as disappointed as Giles. “Never mind. That was a stupid thing to ask.”

It was a weird thing to ask, is what—except Giles would have put hard money on Aaron being about to ask him out and chickening out at the edge of the diving board. Which all but assured him Aaron would be receptive to being asked out.

Except Giles still couldn't do it. Instead he said, “It's not stupid. I'd give you a violin lesson anytime you wanted. Right now, if you want.”

Aaron lifted his head. Unlike Giles, his blush only made him that much hotter. “You don't have to.”

“But I'd love to.”

For the first time since the
they should be a couple
comment, Aaron met Giles's gaze. He looked terrified, embarrassed, ready to run. Giles's heart turned over, and he had to actively fight an urge to fold Aaron into his arms and make the world go away.

That was when Giles realized what the friend part of boyfriend was—he wanted to protect Aaron, make everything okay. Not just like he did for Min, but…more. To know his partner so well he knew not only when he was upset but how to make the hurt go away.

Violin lesson.
Fuck yeah.

“I don't think anyone's in this room until seven. I could borrow Karen's instrument to teach you, or we could share mine.”

It was kind of funny, actually, how thrown Aaron looked. “Um…sure. If you really don't mind.”

“Not at all.” He nodded at the music stands and chairs on the other side of the room. “Set up two chairs and stands next to each other, and I'll be right back.”

As he headed out the door, Giles glanced over his shoulder. Aaron stood at the table, terrified and nervous.

And hopeful.

Giles shut his eyes and savored it a moment. Then he hurried out of the rehearsal hall and into the student lounge to fetch his violin.

C
hapter Fourteen

W
hen Giles returned to the choir room, the chairs and stands were set up, but Aaron paced by the fire exit. Giles hefted his violin, brandishing it with a waggle of his eyebrows. “You ready?”

Aaron looked as unready as they came. “Sure.”

“I was too late to catch Karen, but this will work fine. I've never shown anyone how to play before though, so you'll have to bear with my clumsiness.”

Aaron sat down when Giles did, rubbing his palms self-consciously on his jeans. “It's nice of you to teach me.”

“Not at all.” Giles rested his violin on his lap, the bow beside it. “Okay, first things first: the parts. The bow is obvious, but it has sections as well. The tip, which is always farthest away from your hand. The hair, which is what passes over the strings. The stick, which holds the hair taut. The bow grip, which will come into play in a minute. The eyelet is this dot here, this spot underneath is the frog, and this is the end screw, where you loosen and tighten the hair.”

Aaron watched Giles's demonstration intently. “Okay.”

Giles held up his rosin. “You need to keep the hair rosined, but not too much. You'll know when you need to add some because it's scratchy. But when you get brand-new rosin, the first thing you do is score it with a quarter or your fingernail because otherwise it'll never transfer to the hair.” He passed the bow over to Aaron and picked up the violin. “On the violin itself, we have a lot of parts. For the most basic, we have the body—sometimes called the belly—where the sound resonates, and the neck and fingerboard, where you work the strings. Above the neck is the scroll and pegbox, with the big tuning pegs. You don't use the tuning pegs unless you're putting on a new string or something is seriously out of whack. The fine tuners here at the bottom are what you'll primarily use to put your violin in tune.” He plucked a few strings and winced. “Yeah, like right now.”

Aaron became very interested. “What are the four notes again? Those first two sound like G and D.”

“G, D, A, E.” Giles plucked them one by one and winked at Aaron. “God, but you've got a good ear.”

He wanted to purr when he saw the way the compliment made Aaron beam.
Compliment him more often.

“For the last part of the strings, we have the tailpiece, which is what holds the bottom part of the strings on, and the bridge, which holds them away from the belly. These two swirly bits are the F holes, which is where the sound actually comes out. But to make that happen you need the sound post, which is this little dowel inside by the treble end of the bridge. It's support but also what transfers the sound between the plates and gives us tone. It's sometimes called the
âme
, which is French for soul, because despite its boring appearance, it really is the soul of the instrument.” He faltered, realizing how much excessive information he was giving. “Sorry if I'm babbling.”

“No, not at all. This is so interesting.” Aaron bit his lip. “May—may I hold it?”

Pleasure washed over Giles, and he passed it over. “Of course.”

Aaron accepted the violin with a reverence that was almost as erotic as his lip-biting. “It's beautiful. Did you name it?”

Giles rubbed at his neck, embarrassed. “Henrietta. After my grade school violin teacher. She died the year my parents bought it for me. It felt right.”

“That's so sweet.” He held Henrietta in front of him, giving her an admiring look. “Should I call her a she, or it?”

“I don't think she cares much about pronouns, just don't wind her strings too tight or crack her bridge.” Giles finished the rest of the parts demonstration with Henrietta in Aaron's lap. “This plastic part is the chin rest, though I have a shoulder rest we'll attach in a second. Now you know all the parts of the violin. Are you ready to hold a bow?”

“Ready,” Aaron declared with a smile.

Giles showed him how to attach the shoulder rest and positioned the violin on Aaron's left shoulder. He had to hold the bow himself before he could accurately explain how Aaron should place his fingers. “You make a smiley face with your thumb, stretch your index finger out, put your middle finger on the frog, ring finger on the eyelet. Your pinky stands on the bow.”

Aaron laughed. “My thumb makes a what now?”

Giles crooked his thumb. “A smiley. That's what Henrietta told me to call it.”

Aaron grinned. “A smiley it is.”

Giles tuned the instrument, then taught Aaron how to bow, when to use his wrist and when to lift his arm. While it wasn't exactly
necessary
Giles touch Aaron's arm to help him move it correctly, it certainly didn't hurt his education.

He didn't complain, either, when Giles lingered a little longer than the demonstration warranted.

Aaron was, of course, a natural. He winced when his first attempt at bowing elicited a screech, but it wasn't long before he knew how to produce a crisp, clear sound.

“Good job,” Giles told him. “You'll do well with fingering too. Kids use tapes when they learn, but with your ear you won't take long to pick it up.”

“It's so clear.” Aaron pulled a long, strong A, then an E. “This has to be more Henrietta than me.”

“She's not a cheap date, no. She was my birthday, Christmas, and—” He stopped himself from saying
get-out-of-the-hospital-for-the-second-time present.
“She was expensive, so she has great sound. But the player still has to bring it, or she won't sing.”

Aaron played a few more notes, riding the four strings up and down. “I love orchestras. Strings make me shiver.” He stole a shy glance at Giles. “When you play the double bass for Salvo, I get chills every time.”

Never, ever would Giles have guessed he could get so hard talking violin. “I'm a lot better on Henrietta.”

Aaron's cheeks flushed with color. “I'd love to hear you play sometime.”

Sweet baby Jesus.
Giles wanted to put Henrietta on the chair and push Aaron to the floor. “I'll play for you right now. But let's give you a chance to shine first. How about I teach you a song?”

From Aaron's reaction, Giles would have thought he'd offered to give him a million dollars. “Can I learn ‘Mary Had a Little Lamb'?”

“Too tricky for your first attempt. I was thinking more ‘Twinkle, Twinkle, Little Star'. It only uses two strings, and it has the benefit of teaching you a lot of fingering at the same time.”

This lesson involved more touching as Giles helped Aaron apply his fingers to the board, showing him the right pressure and position. As he'd anticipated, Aaron had no trouble keeping his notes on pitch, and Giles only had to explain the very basics before Aaron taught himself the song. When he finished, he laughed and flourished his bow, flush with pride.

Giles clapped and grinned. “Well done, maestro.”

“Thanks. That was fun.” Aaron passed Henrietta and the bow over. “Let's hear the real deal now, though.”

Giles tucked Henrietta to his shoulder, his fingers sliding easily into position on the bow. “What do you want to hear?”

“Anything.” Aaron settled into his chair. “Pop, classical—anything. Though—if you know anything with the plinky-plinky sound?” He mimed plunking strings on an imaginary violin.

“Pizzicato? Sure.” He plucked a few arpeggios, stomach flipping at the way it made Aaron smile. “Now the question is, do you want something classical and official, or do you want me to make you giggle when I play ‘TiK ToK' pizzicato?”

Aaron burst out laughing. “Shut
up
. Seriously?”

Giles grinned. “I'll consider that a request for Ke$ha.”

He launched into the song, and Aaron laughed so hard he fell sideways. But when Giles started to lower his violin, Aaron waved him on as he wiped his eyes and rose, heading to the piano. “Keep going. I have an idea.”

Giles started the song over, and goddamn if Aaron didn't pound out harmony on the piano like the music was in front of him. Not wanting to appear a slouch, Giles stepped up his game, adding some flourishes whenever he could. Aaron kept playing, never missing so much as a note.

“Now switch,” Giles called out as they cleared the bridge. “You pizz on the piano, and I'll bow the harmony.”

Aaron frowned, but it was a stare of concentration. “There's no such thing on the piano. How do I—?” Then he grinned. “Got it.
Go
.”

Giles tried to keep his brain three steps ahead of his fingers, working out the harmonics before he played them, wanting both accuracy and elegance, because of course Aaron brought both. Aaron's “pizzicato” was staccato beats in the upper register, sometimes with harmony added, sometimes not. Sweating, Giles did his best to keep up, a task difficult partly because of the notes, partly because it took everything in him not to break out in giggles. Though as soon as they finished the song with a ridiculous flourish, they both bust out laughing.

“That was
awesome
.” Aaron wiped at his eyes. “Oh, shit—I want to do more.”

“What about ‘100 Years'? It gives good pizz. Do you know it?”

Aaron stared at him, his look unreadable.

Giles faltered. Was he pissed? Annoyed? “I— Sorry—”

He stopped as Aaron grinned and rolled his eyes before his fingers moved over the opening bars with the precision of someone who'd long ago memorized the song.

Oh.
The look had been incredulity, Aaron insulted at the idea he
didn't
know the song.

Grinning, Giles joined in, playing pizzicato through the first verse, but as Aaron filled out his harmony, Giles started bowing.

When they hit the chorus, Aaron began to sing.

Giles didn't know why Aaron's vocals hit him so hard—it
wasn't
because he crushed on him, though that didn't help anything. It wasn't so much that Aaron's voice was some kind of perfect harmonic, though it was. A million people had great voices, though.

Not many opened a vein quite like Aaron.

Giles stopped worrying about looking good and focused on the spaces the piano couldn't cover, never overpowering Aaron's voice but rather lifting him up, easing the spaces between the notes so when he sang, he soared even higher. Giles forgot about making mistakes, forgot about everything in the world that wasn't playing with Aaron.

When the song ended, they held still, gazes locked, hands frozen on their instruments.

Aaron broke the silence, his voice soft and heavy. “‘With or Without You'?”

Giles lifted his bow and glided gently into the lead.

The magic of the moment let them play like gods. Giles rose through the song as Aaron put in a gentle baseline, just enough color to finish things off. Aaron took up the vocal melody, soft and sweet, his pretty tenor resting oh so tenderly on each note. He turned the song into a lullaby, ignoring all bait to belt, which only made the vocals more powerful. It was so beautiful Giles had to close his eyes.

I love him.
His heart swelled and spilled over as they rounded into the final chorus.
I'm so in love with him I can't even ask him out. I want to lie at his feet, want to smooth out all the wrinkles in his life and make everything okay.

I can't ever tell him, because if I'm wrong, if somehow he doesn't want me, my life would be over. I'd rather have this than nothing.

Someone as wonderful as him can't want someone as awkward as me. There's just no way. There's no fucking way that's real, no matter how much I want it to be.

Aaron closed off the song with a chord—with a soft pull on Giles's bow, it was done.

The music hung in the air between them.

Giles lowered his instrument. At the piano Aaron let his fingers fall from the keys.

They stared at each other, breathing hard but silent, neither wanting to break the spell.

He's waiting for you to ask him out.

I can't, I can't, I can't.

The door to the rehearsal hall opened. Giles and Aaron startled, turning away from each other as if they'd been caught kissing, not staring. It was one of the other quartets coming in to practice, and the members greeted them both warmly, apologizing if they were interrupting.

“No problem,” Aaron told them. But he cast one last longing glance at Giles.

I can't.
Except there was nothing,
nothing
in the world Giles would rather do.

Aaron thought he'd go crazy if Giles didn't ask him out, which he told Walter every time they spoke.

“I think he might like me. He looks at me a lot. Not glaring, either. Sometimes I catch him staring at me, and he blushes. That has to be good, right?”

“I suspect it's very good.” Walter's voice indicated subtle amusement.

“He doesn't ask me out, though. I've tried twice, and all I get is violin lessons. Which are fun, but I jerk off after which is kind of weird. I wish
he
would ask me out. But maybe he's not into me and I'm an idiot.”

“You're not an idiot.”

“So you think he might be into me? Why doesn't he ask me out? What do I
do
?”

“You don't do anything.”

“
What?
” Alone in his room, Aaron paced back and forth across the carpet. “He's into me and I shouldn't do anything? Why not?”

“Because I believe we had a conversation not long ago about going slow.”

Aaron made a frustrated sound through his nose. “This isn't slow, this is
glacial
. Walter, he's not a jerk. I really like him. I think maybe we got off on the wrong foot is all.”

“I think you're right. Which is why you should continue to be his friend a little longer and make sure that misunderstanding doesn't happen again. You can jerk off every hour if you need to. Take your time and do this right.”