#also bc im tired nd formatting spelling everything is kind of atrocious

[xamaxenta]

another probably uninspiring music au from me but i cant help it music is such a soulmate sort of thing

marcoace meetcute that maybe ill turn into a hot comic one day and its where Marco’s an overqualified pianist, working the night shift at a schmoozy ritzy high class hotel chain cigar lounge

He sometimes plays alone sometimes with a band sometimes with a singer, but hes never met his match yet, he’s never found that spark inside them, this is a paycheck for all his colleagues and collaborators

And then he’s introduced to Ace, a young man who certainly doesnt look like he belongs to this scene, hes far too young, far too wild, far too loud

he almost laughs when Ace says he’s the new lounge singer, Marco isnt judgemental, but, its a little difficult when Ace looks like one of the many overworked college kids scuttling around the city, when he’s got visible tattoos and bedhead and a smile that screams mischief abundance

But he shakes his hand nonetheless and welcomes him warmly as he always does, hopes for a friendly working relationship until Ace inevitably finds greener pastures

Night falls and Marco warms up with his usual ripple of harmonics and pentatonics, scales both major and minor when Ace finally joins him on the soft elevated stage,

he looks good actually, incredible, genuinely, the suit is well cut and his hair is combed handsomely over to one side, revealing an enviable profile with cheekbones that could almost rival marcos himself

The lounge the bar everything opens and the small talk theyd been enjoying comes to an end, for Marco its showtime and he can only hope Ace can keep up

They have a safe song roster, time hadnt allowed them to practice together but Ace had assured him he was prepared, trusting his professional confidence, Marco leads with the opening bars and just as he loses himself in the melody Ace begins to sing and just like that its that spark that feeling, Marco plays by rigorously trained muscle memory alone, head jerking up to watch the way Ace almost leans, sways into against the mic stand his voice drops drastically, deep, raspy so so different from his normal timbre

He gets it now, what people mean when youll know them when you hear it, because Ace has felt it just the same way he has, the lightning crackling inside his ribcage, the hook sliding gutting him with a hot bubbly feeling

Their set blurs by and by the last song Ace has meandered his way closer to Marco, magnetised to the pianist, taking the mic with him holds it in a way Marco fucking wishes was him instead, eyes lidded, dark hair scorching over his freckled features

The way Ace looks at him, the way the lyrics suddenly feel weighted and full of meaning leaves Marco dry mouthed and lightheaded

Perhaps its the way Ace leaves him, expression coy in a sultry kind of way has Marco striding after him, after theyve thanked their audience, grasping Ace by his wrist behind velvet curtains, feels the sharp edge of cufflinks when Ace tugs away with a soft “we shouldnt—“

Flustered at their proximity and the heat, Marco lets him go this time, but he knows, he knows Ace knows he does

And Marco finds hes alright with waiting just a little longer