Mha Bnha Anime One Shots

Musician - Shoto Todoroki

In the dark room, with burnt out wax candles lying on top of the wooden table, his fingers moved gracefully across the piano keys, while I sat there, watching with a heavy heart, getting reminding of the countless candles snuffed out by my failed attempts to learn the same instrument, knowing that I could never possess such a skill. The ivory keys seem to bow to his command, creating music that tugged at the strings of my soul. He looked so beautiful in that moment, so unreal.

"And now," He murmured, his eyes never leaving the keys. "If we modulate from C major to G major..." His eyes stayed glued to the keys, "...then we get a perfect resolution back to C."

He played as he spoke, a smile gracing his lips as the chords fell into place, his icy features softened by pure passion.

"The perfect resolution." He concluded before sharing a glance with me, a question in his icy blue eye, like he wanted me to get it, to feel the music the way he did. And his music, oh man, it was my happy place. It chased away the loneliness that always seemed to hang around, even when I was with him.

"What piece is that." I asked.

"It's a Chopin nocturne," He mumbled, the melody turning darker. Silence stretched between us. Finally, I couldn't hold back any longer.

"Do you ever play anything besides classical?" I asked, already knowing the answer.

His music is like a balm to my beaten heart, it soothes my desperate ache of loneliness. But as much as I long to join him, to be a part of his world of music and magic, I know deep down that I can never reach his level of proficiency. My fingers stumble clumsily over the keys, out of tune and out of sync, like a catfight in a tin can. My fingers just wouldn't cooperate.

He paused, a single, lonely note hanging in the air.  "Sometimes," He said finally, a hint of frustration in his voice. "But it never feels the same. Like... a conversation with someone who doesn't understand the language."

The sting of his words was immediate. I glared at him while he started at that stupid piano. Was that how he saw me? An incapable outsider who can't even play anything properly.

"What's that supposed to mean?" I questioned him.

The pain in my chest was one thing, but to have my love for music questioned? It was a low blow.

"Fuck," He sighed, slamming a fist down on the keyboard, a jarring dissonance erupting from the piano, "Nothing, just forget I said anything."

Silence followed after and neither of us said anything.

He then finally stopped playing and turned towards me, his expression unreadable. "You should go get some rest," He murmured, his voice softer than usual.

I don't know why sit and listen, everytime. I don't know why I let his music carry me away to a place where dreams are made real and sorrows are forgotten. I did yearn to be able to play alongside him, to add my own voice to his of sounds. But I am but a mere spectator, forced to watch from the sidelines as he steals hearts with his talent and skill. His warmth covers me like a comforting hug, he fills the room with a sense of belonging. But even as I bask in his kindness, I cannot shake the impending feeling that grips my heart. Though I know that no matter how much he cares for me, his true love lies with music.

Perhaps, I held onto a sliver of hope, a foolish belief that someday, his music might acknowledge my presence, that a single note might be played just for me.

"No," I said, my voice surprisingly steady.

He ran a hand through his hair, a flicker of annoyance crossing his features. "I'm in the middle of a practice session..." That was his way of telling me to fuck off.