Looking Through Stain Glass Hearts || Nial Horan Fic

Preface

Coursing through my veins was adrenaline, I think. Right now my thoughts weren't coherent, they were jumbled and confused. The light blinded my eyes glazing them with a purple haze. My glare recovery was poor and when I'm driving I'll be cursing like crazy but in this moment I'm glad i can't see the judges faces. I raise my violin to the crook of my neck and shakily the bow follows. As I begin my piece the notes begin to blur from how hyper focused I was. My nerves get the better of me and I stop. My face heats up like a hot plate, instantly I feel the flight response build in my legs but instead I raise my head to these critics. Stereotypical, two men and a woman, all over fifty with glasses and greased back hair. With one glance at them, I regain some sort of confidence and start with a melodic series of thirty-second notes coming down to a harmonic major chord, I numbly bow, and walk backstage where the weight of my mistake really hits.

I leave the studio to a small coffee shop and order a shot of expresso. I needed something to shock me out of this distant feeling. I know they'll post the results at three PM but I contemplate even going to see my failure up close. I keep replaying that moment when I stop, and I can't even figure out why. I pull at the loose thread on my woven scarf, nerves building as the clock ticks on. I know the list will be there and my number won't. That fear is enough to keep me from going at all, but the hope that they will note my bravery and decide I deserve it overshadow the fear and force my body out of the paisley chair, out the quaint coffee shop, and towards studio A. As it comes into view the white paper sized rectangle posted on the door and my feet stop as if my brain is telling my feet, don't show me something disappointing.

Suddenly, I am in front of the list. I go through all the first violins, not there. I skim through all the seconds, not there. I tore my eyes away, I couldn't bear to look through the thirds yet I know I couldn't live with myself if I didn't see so I muster up something, anything, and look at the thirds. The last number is thirty-two, I double check the number on my hand, that's mine. A tear drips from excitement. I am part of the orchestra that will be playing for the world's most drooled over boy band, One Direction. I ran down the street swinging my violin case and bag around like Julia Roberts in The Sound of Music and I couldn't help but hum "I Have Confidence in Me."