Strings and Shadows

Chapter 6 - Private Practice

The music room had started to feel different. Less like a place to hide, more like a place to breathe.

Venus slipped inside after last period, clutching her guitar case tighter than usual. Mason was already there, sprawled across the floor with his back against the wall, one knee bent, strumming something soft and unfinished on his acoustic. He looked up when she entered, and for a split second, his smile made her forget to breathe.

"You're late," he teased, though his tone was light.

"I had to walk Eli home," she said quickly, setting her case on the nearest chair. "He's convinced the world's full of villains waiting around every corner."

Mason chuckled. "Smart kid. He's not wrong."

Venus rolled her eyes, but there was warmth in it. She opened her case and pulled out her guitar, fingers brushing the strings like she needed the grounding. Mason watched her—he always did—but today his gaze felt different. Softer. More careful, like he was trying not to scare her off.

"You know," he said, plucking at his strings, "you never actually play a full song around me. Just pieces. Fragments."

"That's because fragments are safer," Venus muttered, strumming aimlessly. "Songs are... personal."

"Good." He leaned forward, resting his guitar across his lap. "Personal is better."

Her stomach twisted. Mason said it so easily, like vulnerability wasn't a risk, like opening up didn't come with consequences. Venus wanted to believe him, but years of hiding behind sarcasm and music made it hard.

Still, she started to play. Softly at first, hesitant, her fingers fumbling over the chords she'd written one sleepless night after moving to LA. The song wasn't finished—wasn't even close—but the melody was hers, raw and shaky and alive.

When her voice slipped in, just above a whisper, she felt her cheeks heat. She wasn't used to singing where anyone could hear. Mason didn't interrupt. He didn't laugh, didn't smirk, didn't say a word. He just listened, eyes locked on her like the sound meant something.

When the last chord faded, Venus kept her head down, pretending to adjust a string that didn't need tuning. Her heart was pounding, her throat tight.

Mason's voice was quiet. "That was... beautiful."

Venus scoffed, trying to mask the sudden knot in her chest. "Don't exaggerate."

"I'm not." He leaned closer, his smile gentle this time, almost shy. "You've got something, Venus. Don't hide it from me."

The silence that followed was thick, charged. Venus couldn't look at him, afraid of what she'd see in his eyes—or worse, what he'd see in hers.

For the first time, the music room felt dangerous. Not because of what they played, but because of what lingered between the notes.

"When am I gonna stop being wise beyond my years and just start being wise?"
— Olivia Rodrigo