Marked by the Music Master

Music flows through the rehearsal hall, swirling and dancing around our bodies.

My hair stands on end. This is beautiful. Majestic.

The school orchestra is a single unit—a machine. We play in unison while golden sun pours through tall windows, reflecting off glittering brass instruments. At the front, our conductor stands proud, guiding the magic with flourishes of his hand.

But my fingers are slow today. The flute trembles, feeling unusually heavy. Maybe it’s all the caffeine I drank this afternoon. No…that’s not it. I’m only a month into my freshman year, and I’m beginning to realize I’m out of my depth. Everyone else in the orchestra is so much better than I am. I struggle to keep up.

I fumble, emitting jumbled noises. The notes slip through my fingers like sand. I’m falling apart.

Things have been so stressful lately. This is my first time living away from home, and I haven’t been able to make any friends. Even my roommates don’t seem to like me. They’re tough, rowdy athletes who bring girls over almost every night. Sometimes I hear them fucking while I try to sleep. The bedframes creak while girls moan. It turns me on…it keeps me up late.

Which is why I’m developing a caffeine addiction.

“No! Stop! Stop! Stop!” The conductor waves his hands, signaling silence. “Flutes! This is awful…who’s doing it?”

The other students point at me.

My face goes bright red as the conductor’s brown eyes bore into my soul. His black brows furrow. His lips curl into a frown beneath his trimmed beard. His sharp, angular features emit a frightening aura, and his physique is no less intimidating. Within his tailored dress shirt, muscles bulge, pulling the fabric taut. He’s three times my age, and three times bigger than me. He’d give most of the student-athletes a run for their money. When he isn’t in the rehearsal hall, he’s at the gym or out in the mountains hiking.

His name is Richard Donovan. Born into a family of musicians, he’s a legendary maestro. A virtuoso. With the flick of his hands, he captivates audiences and pulls perfection from his musicians. He’s been a conductor for decades, but he’s proficient in over a dozen musical instruments.

Including the flute.

From day one, I’ve been nervous around him. His commanding presence causes me to tremble. There’s a strange sort of admiration though. I’m afraid of him, but I want him to like me. I want to do a good job…

“Liam.” He lets out an exhausted sigh. “Stay after class, alright?”

“Um…yes, professor.” I glance at the ground.

“Alright, let’s start again. Take it from the top!”

Our practice session proceeds, but I don’t fare much better. I’m pretty sure Professor Donovan is ignoring me. He’s tuning out my failure.

A sense of dread creeps into my heart as we wrap up. The other students grab their bags and chat while exiting the room. I stay seated though, my eyes glued to the floor.

“You’ve been struggling.” Professor Donovan approaches. “You’ve seemed distracted.”

“Have I?” I glance up with wide eyes.

He looms large, his shadow bathing me in darkness. From this position, he looks like a Norse giant. His harsh, wrinkled face causes me to shrink in my seat.

But his expression softens. There’s kindness in those amber eyes.

“Liam, I’ve been doing this a long time. I know how to read students.” He crouches low. “You passed the auditions. I selected you for a reason.”

“W-what do you mean…?”

“Back when you walked in here for your orchestra audition, I could see something special within you. You’ve got talent. It just needs to be refined.” He puts a hand on my shoulder. “So don’t get discouraged.”

I stare into those eyes while his warm, heavy hand rests on my body. Comfort fills the air. I should consider myself lucky to be here. Studying under such an accomplished instructor…I need to give it my all.

Motivation pumps into my veins.

“Alright, professor! I’ll do my best!”

“Good. Our first concert is coming up next month, and I expect you to be ready.”

“Do you have any tips? How can I improve?”

“Here—let me show you.”

He moves behind me. Leaning over my body, his stomach presses into the back of my head. I instinctively pull away from his hard abs, but he just moves closer. He reaches down, wrapping one of his hands around my own. His skin is moist and leathery—callused after decades of practice.

He’s all around me. It’s a bit weird…

“Hold it like this.” He lifts the instrument toward my mouth.

“P-professor, I know how to hold a flute. I’m not a beginner—”

“Shhh…touch your lips to the hole.” He forces the opening against my mouth, muffling my speech. “We need to start at the basics. I want you to relax. Blow for me.”

I hesitate, but maybe I’m being too sensitive. This guy is a master. It makes sense that he’d have unorthodox teaching methods. I should follow his lead. No talking back to the instructor.

My lungs expand before expelling into the hole, sending a gentle whine slicing through the air. Professor Donovan grips my fingers, guiding while I play a few simple notes.

“Just like that. Nice and steady.” He sinks low, pressing his chest into my shoulder while lowering his lips to my ear. “Don’t stop.”

His hot breath caresses my skin. My muscles tense up. What the fuck?!

But I keep playing. His heart thumps against my shoulder. I can feel his body heat through our clothes. There’s a damp, sweaty scent in the air too. It flows into my lungs each time I take a breath to play. I expel it into my flute, transforming the musty air into beautiful music.

“You’re doing great. Just breathe. Let the music flow through you.”