*Chapter 6: The Silence Between Notes*
The days that followed were hollow.
Skyler still came to practice, but River didn't meet his eyes. Their fingers played the keys, but their music sounded like strangers talking past each other—off-beat, mechanical, empty.
It wasn't anger that lingered in the room. It was distance.
And regret.
***
Skyler sat alone on the rooftop that Friday, hands gripping his notebook like it might answer something for him. He stared at River's name scribbled in the margins, circled over and over, as if repeating it would bring the boy back.
He'd let River in.
But River had shut him out.
He wanted to be patient, wanted to wait. But how do you fight for someone who's building walls faster than you can knock them down?
His phone buzzed. A text from River.
*Practice is off today. Got things to handle.*
No explanation.
Skyler didn't reply.
He just closed his notebook and stared up at the sky, willing it not to fall.
***
River, meanwhile, stood outside the music director's office, a folder of competition pieces tucked under his arm. Elliot had arrived that morning—confident, composed, already surrounded by admiration.Mr. Grant smiled as River entered. "I'm glad you're taking this seriously. With Elliot back, we need to bring the best to the winter showcase."
River nodded mechanically.
The praise felt like acid.
Inside, he was screaming.
He thought of Skyler—how he laughed, how he saw music as feeling, not just form. How River used to feel alive when they played.
And now?
He was back to being a machine.
***
That night, River tried to sleep. But dreams came sharp and fast—memories of competitions, of his father's disappointed eyes, of Skyler reaching out... and River pulling away.
He sat up in the dark, breathing hard.
*You're not just playing for trophies anymore,* a voice in his mind whispered.
*You're playing for someone who hears your heart in the chords.*
And he had let that someone go.
***
The next day, River stood outside practice room 7.
Skyler was inside, headphones on, playing a new melody on his guitar—one River had never heard. Raw. Wounded.
River watched through the glass for a moment before quietly stepping in.
Skyler didn't stop playing. He didn't even look up.
River waited, then said softly, "I'm sorry."
Skyler's fingers paused.
"I let the past control me," River continued. "But I don't want to lose us… because of it."
Skyler finally looked up.His eyes weren't angry—they were tired. But hopeful.
"Then prove it," he said, voice barely above a whisper.
"Play with me. Not because you have to. Because you *want* to."
River sat beside him.
And played.
Not perfect. Not polished.
But honest.
And for the first time in days… the silence between the notes disappeared.
—