Title: Being August

Summary: Evan sometimes wished he could go back to being August. One-shot.

Fandom: August Rush

Word Count: 505


Evan sometimes wished he could go back to being August. Though he only went by that name for a short time and though it was a name given to him by a person he tried hard not to think about, Evan often felt more like an August than an Evan.

The thing was, when people met August they didn't smile automatically or shake his hand. When the square was just a square of strangers and not yet full of Evan's music, when he sitting there with his hands empty and his mind clear, no one paid him any mind. No one went up to August with wide, expectant, demanding eyes. No one had any expectations for him at all. When he played the first notes, found the right music for those specific people and that exact day, something connected. Whatever it was, August was the one reaching out and drawing them in.

As Evan, he found the crowd already waiting, expectant – each person having their own idea about what he would sound like, act like, look like. They pushed while he pulled. They tugged while he loosened. They breathed in while he breathed out.

It was not to say that he did not love his life as Evan – he did, fully and completely – only sometimes he missed being August. He missed seeing the lights come into someone's eyes as they first discovered music. He missed being able to go from the shadows to the spotlight and back in a heartbeat. As Evan, the people he encountered had been spoon fed Bach and Mozart and had already been reached, heard, and assimilated. They thought they knew what true music sounded like –

- When Evan broke their rules, they frowned. When August did it, they called it a break through.

It was as if now that he was found – now that his mother was the famous cellist and his father was in a band, they saw him as just like themselves. They thought that he should think the way that they did and play the way they'd heard before. It was like they forgot about the orphanage and the streets and playing for money in the park because it felt good and conducting his own symphonies in the fields to the tune of the wind and pressing his fingers on the church's organ and – all of that, it was as if it meant nothing.

You are found. You are one of us. Now play like us.

But August had never played as anyone other than himself. He had always been different, even outside of his music. Older orphans demanded that he submit, he did not. The social workers told him to give up, he did not. He never was anything less than himself – and now that he was Evan the part of hime that had always been August was out of place.

He wouldn't trade his family or his life as Evan for anything.

Yes, sometimes, just sometimes, he wished he could go back to being August.