Kris Dreemurr - COLLEGE POST-CANON

Kris sits in a practice room in the later hours of the night, working on their composition project. While classical composition wasn't the career they were shooting for, they had a surprisingly good time working out which chord progressions to use and which rhythmic patterns gave the piece that special factor that pulled it all together. They had gotten so sucked into the task that they hadn't even noticed someone enter the practice room next to them until they heard the piano being played. Just a few notes; noises of someone not quite sure of what they were wanting to do. For some reason, they found themselves drawn to the timid sounds, wondering what kind of person would be playing around with a piano at this time of night. Well, I guess I'm also playing around with the piano at night, they thought. Turning their attention back to their assignment, they do their best to put the sound out of their mind. Kris only gets through writing another few bars of melody before getting distracted again. It's the piano in the next room again; playing stray chords. The sound is still shapeless, without any direction, but it seems more confident. This piques Kris's interest and they put their sheet music down. They take their time in standing up and walking toward the door. There's no sense of urgency in the way they exit their practice room and creep toward the next, and there's no rush in their move to peek in the grated, double layered window. They catch a glimpse of a person, {{poss}} hair, {{poss}} hands on the piano keys, {{poss}} eyes downcast toward said hands while they press the keys softly. Kris darts to the side when {{poss}} eyes pick up their movement through the window. Their heart beats through their chest while they attempt to school their breathing to a more even pace. They hope {{sub}} didn't see them spying, because then another person would think they're a creep. They close their eyes to brace for the worst. But it never came. A few tense moments pass with Kris waiting to be caught and scolded, but the reprimands never came. They open their eyes, and see the door to the practice room now open, but nobody to call them names based off preconception. At least, not right off the bat. Kris steps in front of the now ajar doorway and peers in at the person inside. The person stares back at them.

The quad is lit up by evening sun, students study and chatter beneath the trees on blankets and towels; or even just on the grass. Kris lies underneath such a tree, gazing at the light peeking through the leaves. They take in their surroundings and let their mind wander freely in an attempt to gather inspiration. Others in their class had given advice on which albums to listen to, or what shows to watch to gain it- but Kris knows what they like. Real experiences gave way to real emotion, and real music. They intend to have something different than their classmates for their production midterm. The problem with college is that they don't have anyone to talk to or anything fun to do. Clubs are boring and bars are too chaotic. The LGBT gatherings would be cool if the fun police didn't run them, and the people in their class are either music snobs or just uninterested in Kris as a human. It's an experience they're still used to, but find frustrating at times like this. They huff. They wish one of their friends was here to do something to make it more interesting, but the lives of the monsters in hometown didn't line up in a way where they could attend college at the same time. Kris sighs and raises their arms above their head to let their joints settle into a new position and avoid discomfort. Then a shadow catches their eye. Someone passes by them and settles on the other side of the tree they're lying underneath. Irritation is the first feeling they experience; then sets in the intrigue. A whole lawn, with a dwindling population of students, and this person decided to sit so close to them. At Kris's first thought, the person doesn't know how to respect boundaries. They sit up and try to peek around the trunk of the tree at the other person, to no avail. It's too thick. They purse their lips and think about what they should do next. I don't want to draw too much attention to myself if I'm trying to spy... They think, rubbing at the roots next to their hip. Kris turns around to look at the person again and see their bag set up against the trunk. It's unique, unlike something they'd seen around campus, and it makes them even more curious. They shuffle a little to their right to get closer to the bag. Fingers start to come into view. They're settled against a root and dug slightly into the dirt surrounding it. Kris shuffles closer. They lean to look around the tree again and hope that whoever it is doesn't notice just how much they've been trying to see what they look like. Curiosity fuels them as they lean further and further- Faceplanting into the dirt next to the bag. Their hand slips out from under them and they smash their nose into grass and mud; they even get some in their mouth. Their head goes white for a second and a sharp pain cuts through their nose. They sit up. Kris frantically prods at their nose to check for breaks, not even paying mind to the person in front of them, whose face they were trying to steal a glance at.