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.
"Could you atleast hear me out or is that also too much to ask?"
"Listen to what?" He asked, his voice talking a defensive tone. "You don't get it, y/n. You never did. I need some space, so please."
"You don't understand me either, Shoto." I retorted, my voice rising a notch. "It's not just about the music, It's about..."
He took a step towards me, his eyes searching mine. "It's about what...?" He prompted.
All my life I've watched him with admiration and envy, wishing that I could hold his attention the way the piano does. But I am just a shadow in the background. I try to understand, to accept that I can never compete with the piano for his affections. But it is a bitter pill to swallow, knowing that no matter how much I love him, I will always come second to his beloved keys.
And yet, despite the pain of this unrequited love, I cannot bring myself to walk away. I cling to him like a lifeline. For, it is not the piano that I love, but the man behind it.
"It's about feeling like I'm always second best," I blurted out, the words tumbling out in a hush. "Second best to your music, to some imaginary connection you have with the keys that you can never seem to have with me."
The sadness in my voice stayed in the silence that followed. Shoto stared at me, his face showing a mix of emotions. Shame? Regret? Anger? It was hard to tell, but for the first time, I saw a crack in his seemingly emotionless facade.
"Is that how you see it?" He finally said, his voice barely a whisper.
"How else am I supposed to see it?" I challenged, tears welling up in my eyes. "You spend every waking moment lost in your music, and when you're not, there's this wall around you, a wall I can't seem to break through."
"Do you even see me, Shoto? Or am I just another audience, easily forgotten when the next beautiful melody hits you?"
As I sat there, I couldn't help but feel the weight of realization pressing down on me. He doesn't love me, he never did. I was merely a passing thought in his mind, a temporary distraction from his own desires. It was a heartbreaking truth, but a truth nonetheless.
"I see you," He muttered, the words a mix of guilt and frustration. "I see you practicing, trying to learn, even though your fingers seem to stumble all over the keys." A bitter laugh escaped his lips. "I see you sitting there, night after night, listening to me play. But..." He hesitated, as if struggling with his own emotions. "But sometimes, it feels easier to be lost in the music than... than to connect with you."
It was as if he ripped me open in half.
"Easier?" I repeated, my voice tight. "Is that all I am? A distraction from the "real passion" in your life?"
He winced, his hand reaching out as if to touch me, then retracting as if he was afraid I would reject him. "Y/n, you don't understand, Music is my escapism. A way to communicate things words can't. It's a part of me, a part that you... that you may never truly grasp. "
"And yet, you can't seem to communicate a damn thing to me," I snapped back.
"I care about you," He admitted.
"Care," I scoffed. "Is that all it is? Because all I feel is the distance. The constant feeling that you're miles away, even when you're right here." I gestured to the space between us.
He opened his mouth to speak, but no words came out. He closed his eyes for a moment, a defeated sigh escaping his lips. Then, he looked back at me, his voice a low rumble.
"Don't you see?" I pleaded, my voice thick with emotion. "There's more to feeling than just music. What about the love I feel for you? Does that not make you feel anything?"
He closed his eyes, "What if I tell you that's just not enough for me?" He snapped. When he opened them again, a cold resignation had settled behind them. "Love isn't enough for me, y/n," He said, his voice flat. "It's never been enough."
"Do you even know what it's like to be here? To hear you say all of this while I'm trying so hard to not let you tear us apart?"
He remained silent, his gaze fixed on a point on the floor. The answer was clear, he didn't.
"You say I don't understand your music," I continued, my voice shaking with of anger. "But maybe you don't understand me. Maybe you don't understand the silent struggles that I go through every single day just because you're too fucked up to care about anyone else's life except for yours."
Tears welled up in my eyes, hot and stinging. In that moment, I finally understood. Shoto wasn't just in love with music, he was consumed by it.
I have allowed myself to believe in his affection, to live in the warmth of his gaze and the sweet melodies of his words. I gave him everything, my heart, my soul, my unwavering devotion, only to be met with empty promises and hollow gestures in return. He took without giving, my time and my love, using me as a pawn in his game of love and deceit.
"Then I guess," I said, my voice hoarse, "that leaves me with nothing but the applause."
Despite the pain and betrayal, a part of me still longs for him, still yearns for the touch of his hand and the sound of his laughter. But I know now that I deserve more than fleeting moments of affection, more than scraps of love tossed my way when it suits him.
But, I'm in love with a musician who loves his music too much.
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Heyy loves, how're yall doin' today??
I had been meaning to write about a chapter revolving around the concept of music as I'm a fellow music major myself, hehe<33
Omg I just watched lala land for the first time and when I tell you I'm obsessed with playing city of starts on the piano like-