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violin

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Felix groans and drops on the bed as something claws at his heart, annoyance bubbling below the surface, so much so that he thinks he might lose it at any given second. »This is useless,« he spits and glares down at the innocent violin in his hands, hand curled around its slim neck. »I'm never going to master this thing.«

»Fe, we've been practicing for half an hour,« Luka says as he sits down next to him, puts his hand on top of Felix's. It's warm and comforting and it just makes him groan louder, ripping it out of his grip. He lets himself fall back against Luka's bed, a sigh curling past his lips. He takes in deep breaths to ground himself, tries to ignore the voice whispering what's the point if I can't do it immediately somewhere deep in his brain, tries to ignore how once a passion, that lit his eyes up, feels like a cold ice bath instead, like a chore he can't do.

»I know,« he says and snarls as he looks down at the violin. »But this fucking thing won't cooperate.« The violin lays limp in his grip. His eyes squeeze closed so he doesn't have to look at it.

Luka's hand curls around his and their fingers lace, a warm and sweaty pile on top of the neck. Felix can't bring himself to look at him. »You've only just started,« he says softly and shifts closer so their thighs touch, and so do their sides when he lays down next to him. Felix just barely cracks open an eye to glance at him. »You can't expect to master it so quickly.«

»I have to,« he tells him and focuses his gaze up on the white ceiling, counts the cracks. »What's the point if I don't?« He scowls, tries to take in deep breaths again as the voice nags and nags, drones on in his head until simply holding the thing feels like a chore.

»You know, instruments are like marathons.« Luka's thumb swipes along his knuckles. »You can't rush into them and expect perfection. You can't practice for them once the day before and say you're ready.«

»Don't take advantage of my love for marathons to make weird, sagely advice,« Felix says and turns his gaze so he's watching him. Luka's face smiles back – he gently puts the violin on the bed behind Felix so he can shift closer and bump their foreheads together.

»You know it's true.«

»I know.« He groans and drops his gaze down to their entwined fingers, scowling. »But…«

»No buts.« Luka brings their hands up and lets them rest in the space between them. »The only way to get ready for a marathon is to practice. It takes months, years to get ready. But it's worth it in the end.«

Felix sighs and carefully sits up, turning his gaze to the violin laying sadly on the bed. »Fine. I'll try again.« He reaches out and lets his fingers brush up and down the neck, gently brushing the strings. He smiles a bit. »I missed playing this thing,« he adds to himself, voice barely above a murmur and he scrambles to get on his feet. Luka's behind him when he picks it up, fixes his posture and the arm holding the bow.

»See?« he says softly in his ear and smiles. »It'll be even more worthy to keep practicing then.«

Felix rolls his eyes and angles his head to hide the smile threatening to spill. »Only you can pester me this much about something and live to tell the tale, be grateful.«

Luka's breathy laugh rings in his ears. »I'll remember that, thank you for the courtesy,« he teases and adjusts the arm holding the bow. »Let's go again.«