Not Another Love Song

by Julie Soto

But being utterly hypnotized by a nobody, playing “Jesu, Joy of Man’s Desiring” of all things, was unsettling.

Because Alex had traveled the entire world by the age of twenty-six, and Gwen Jackson was the first person he’d found who could actually do what he did. And possibly do it better. Only she didn’t know it yet. And that—that—was the terrifying part.

“Sure! And actually…” Ama checked over her shoulder and whispered, “it was Xander who requested you.”

oh

“Okay, I’m only telling you because I’m shipping you two now, but Xander agreed not to take pay, only tip. His stipend went to you. He specifically requested it.”

And instead he hit the record button on his music writing software and picked up his bow. When he was done, when it was out of him, he clicked save. The computer asked him what to call it. He didn’t want to title it yet, but the file needed a name. He typed: Not a Love Song. And he believed it for a few weeks.

ahhh

She took one step toward the exit, and then her body turned back without her permission. “What are you doing right now? Do you want to hang out? Or jam for a bit?” She felt like a violin string, vibrating. His eyes slid over her, and in the silence, she considered walking into the ocean and never returning. “That’s… Sorry, that was weird. I don’t even have my violin—” “I have a violin,” he said quickly, seeming like he wanted to step toward her, but stopped himself. “Electric, though.” His gaze was bright. Eager. Swallowing, she said, “I’ve never played an electric.” His lips pressed together, and she listened as he took a measured breath. “Would you like to?”

She laughed, looking down at the floor. She heard a rumble from his chest that could have been a laugh. “But I don’t… you know”—she gestured—“have an entire room full of girlfriends.” He stuttered a laugh, and she turned to look at him. His face was younger when he laughed. He carried the electric cello—“Ruby”—to the center of the room, bringing a chair over. “Room full of girlfriends,” he muttered, smiling. He looked up and pointed at the violin. “That one’s Victor.”

“What’s the tempo?” she asked. He looked up from her fingers and blinked a few times. “There isn’t one. The piece… doesn’t exist yet. Do what feels natural to you.” He swallowed, and he held her eyes as he said, “Don’t worry. It’s not a love song.”

He stared at her, like he’d lost his train of thought, and she watched him lick his lips. “Can I see you? After rehearsal? Any day. Or morning.” A hand shoved through his hair. “See, I can be on time.” He sent her a shaky smile, quickly pressing his lips together.

“Look, I don’t know what you want from me, but—” “Anything.” Black eyes looked down on her, and he took a shaking breath. “Everything.”

“Tell me I can see you again,” he whispered, leaning into her. “For music or anything else.”

And because she was so, so not smart, she placed a light hand on his chest, tilting up in her heels and turning her mouth to his cheek, whispering, “Good night, Alex,” before pressing her lips to his skin. She felt him follow her down, turning his head to try to catch her. A hand pressed softly to her hip, and her body shivered. She pulled away, not daring to meet his eyes again

Liking a video he posted last week would be one thing. It implied that she had just found his account. Liking a video from 2021 implied that she was twenty minutes into some grade A Instagram stalking. Gwen groaned and pushed her face into her pillow. She woke up the next morning to one new follower: @Xander_Thorne.

She looked down at the page with one bar to spare. And where the stave was usually named “soloist” or “violin” or “voice,” he’d typed one word: Squeaky. She lifted her bow, and as he slithered out of the arpeggios and into the calm, she carried him through.

And then he flipped the bow around his fingers, pulling against the strings again, and suddenly it fit back together.

“If you don’t want to be with me, together with me, I can understand,” he said, and she felt her knees wobble. “But, Gwen, please make music with me. I need you in my life. I need to be in your orbit in some way, and if you don’t want me to touch you and kiss you and fuck you, then let me make love to you onstage every night because it’s the most alive I’ve felt in ten years—”

You make me so happy @GwenNoFear.

But as the first day back at rehearsal approached—the first day he could walk in holding Gwen’s hand, the first time he could stare at her openly from his seat in the cellos, knowing that she was his and he was hers… He would do it all over again. Every step of it.

She was smiling, just about to finish the phrase, when he pulled his bow up and said, “I love you.”

“It’s simple, really,” he said. “It’s about a cello who fell in love with a violin.”