EDITOR | Akitoya ( Project Sekai )

The Pianist {10}

     "Toya. Focus on the piano," a voice so strong, forcing its way into the blue haired boy's head, forever mentally tormenting him. He flinched as the taller man spoke, his arms shaking as his forced his fingers to play a song, nights spent on practice for only that.

     It was his dream.

     The piano only pulled at his heart, making his thoughts only be that perhaps, if he were to be great enough, his father would care for him.

     A dream.

     How selfish he had been, to believe he was not just a mere insect in his father's eyes, a disobedient brat sent by God to waste his time.

     To believe he was worthy of the love he was given by anyone.

     "Toya! Don't fall asleep at the piano. You're playing until you get it right."
     "Huh...? Father, can I play with Akiyama or Kusanagi after?"
     "If you don't doze off again, yes. The moment you return home, though, you're practicing the violin," he glared at the child, gripping his shoulder tightly, yet it was a pain the boy had become accustomed to. It was nothing new, even if it left his already exhausted body in pain, he would wonder as to why his father seemed to hate him so much, why he was so careless with how tightly his grip would be.

     "I'm going to be out for your mother for a while, when I return, you will have perfected the song. Understand?"
     "Yes, father," he spoke, his eyes devoid of any light as he attempted to avoid eye contact, listening for the footsteps before he continued, holding his breath every failed attempt.

     Nausea.

     Only now, he pleaded whoever may have been there for a second chance, for whoever stood in the room with him to not leave, to give him the attention he deserved.

     Oh, how selfish he was.

     To believe that Mizuki, Akito, Tsukasa, those that stood beside him on his pathway to death, that forced themselves into guilt-filled memories would forever remain by him, that he would ever be worthy of the attention they gifted to him.

     Even as he begged his father to allow him to leave, he would remain at that seat, stuck within the room illuminated by a single lamp at the dead of night, playing, his pitch forever the same, stuck in a rigid place. He begged, pleading for mercy, for his body to alas have a break, yet he had adjusted to it, no longer able to revert back to his prior tendencies. His hands moved quickly, not a single key left untouched as tears built up in his eyes, the breeze from open windows brushing against his cold cheeks.

     Plead.

     An unending cycle.

     Begging, sobbing, resisting.

     A boy unable to escape hospital visits.

     Wasted, unconsciousness, regrets.

     Overworked until his body became unable to.

     Talking, playing, running.
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     "Yo. You feeling any better?" A familiar ginger walked into the hospital room, sitting on the chair next to the bed. The two-toned haired boy slightly sat up, not bothering to move his head, instead focusing on the TV in the corner of the room. "Too tired to speak?" Toya cocked his head towards the other, not having processed the question initially.