[Fic] Nocturne (in E Flat Major)
Title: Nocturne (in E Flat Major)
Author: analineblue
Fandom: No. 6
Pairing/Characters: Nezumi/Shion
Warnings/Spoilers: none
Rating: PG
Word Count: ~2,800
Beta: sariagray
Summary: Shion's curiosity about music leads to a piano lesson, more or less.
Notes: So I really wanted to see Nezumi playing piano, and then... This happened. ^_~ I hope you enjoy it! Comments are always greatly appreciated. ^_^
Shion had never seen a piano before he arrived in the West Block with Nezumi.
He’d seen pictures in books, years ago, when he was still young enough to have his mother read to him. They’d seemed rather large and mysterious then, inaccessible, to a certain degree. In one book, the child shown seated at the keyboard had seemed almost lost in front of it, engulfed by the instrument’s enormity. On the glossy pages of a child’s picture book, there’d been no real sense of scale though, no sense of actual size, or sound or anything, really - it was just an object on a page.
Still, the piano in Nezumi’s room seems smaller than he had imagined.
He forgets it’s there sometimes, especially considering its main function is to act as another surface for Nezumi to cover with papers - an overflow area for when the stacks of books on the coffee table become too precarious. Sometimes, on laundry days, Nezumi drapes his scarf over the top to dry.
But Shion has occasionally heard sounds coming from it, too. Soaking in the bath one night, he thinks he hears Nezumi humming and can make out the strands of a melody, too, smooth tones that blend into each other as if they’re all parts of some collective whole.
By the time he’s dried off and changed, Nezumi is propped on his back on the bed, reading, and the room is silent.
**
Shion doesn’t know much of anything about music - the schools in No.6 didn’t teach the arts, and he doesn’t know anyone who can actually read music other than Nezumi. He stares sometimes at the yellowed pages on the wall, during the day when Nezumi is out, and tries to imagine what Nezumi must see when he looks at the tiny dots of black, with their flags and symbols and patterns.
Nezumi has books on music, of course, just like he has books on pretty much every topic Shion is able to imagine. Shion finds them one day, next to a set of encyclopedias, and just below a collection of dog-eared science journals. (Shion has already read those in their entirety, despite the fact that they’re more than a few years out of date.) Shion isn’t sure how much he can learn about the complexity of music from a book, but he also figures it’s worth a try.
After an afternoon of reading, he’s got the basic terminology, the classes of instruments, and the names of the major composers of the 20th century memorized. The chapter on music theory, which he had thought might feel a little more familiar, given its resemblance to math, ends up being the hardest section for him to grasp. He makes a mental note to ask Nezumi to explain the circle of fifths to him, among other things, someday.
**
That night Shion dreams of black and white keys that stretch off in to the horizon endlessly. The 12 tones of the chromatic scale circle his head, floating and buzzing like insects.
Nezumi is there too - he’s sitting at a huge piano that’s much bigger than the one in his room. It’s black and its surface shines in the soft light of his dream, the lid of the grand piano angling up into the room like a great drawbridge.
Nezumi’s fingers are moving, sweeping across the keys, and the sounds that fill the room are the most beautiful sounds Shion thinks he’s ever heard. It’s as if they lodge somewhere in his chest, and stay there, filling him with warmth until he wakes up.
**
“So what was I playing,” Nezumi asks over breakfast, breaking off a piece of bread and throwing several crumbs to the mice, who wait patiently for their meal on the floor next to his chair. Nezumi is watching Shion curiously, his eyebrows raised in interest. “In your dream,” he prompts again.
Shion frowns as he tries to recall the sounds, failing miserably. They’ve faded away with the morning, like they always do. “I don’t know. I don’t remember. It was really pretty though.”
Nezumi rolls his eyes. “Seriously? Pretty? That narrows it down.”
“What’s wrong with ‘pretty’?”
“Nothing, never mind. And anyway, if you want to hear me play, that can obviously be arranged. For a small fee, of course.”
Shion’s brow furrows. “Nezumi…”
Nezumi laughs, and the sound fills the room. It’s the sort of thing that always takes Shion by surprise, though he’s sure he should be used to it by now.
“That was a joke, by the way,” Nezumi says, still smiling. “I wouldn’t dream of taking your hard earned money for something like that.”
Shion watches Nezumi tear another piece of bread from the loaf they’ve been sharing. He glances at the piano. There are papers scattered across the keys. Tsukiyo has perched himself in a corner, and is dutifully nibbling at the spine of a slender book whose title has practically been worn off already. Shion can’t quite make it out, but figures that it’s probably a play. The thin ones usually are. He glances back at Nezumi, and realizes that they’re both watching Tsukiyo, who stares back at them blankly.
**
“We’re out of bread,” Nezumi announces, looking up over the script he’s been reviewing for the past hour. It’s a rare afternoon that finds both him and Shion home together, and they’ve spent the time so far catching up on reading.
Shion nods in agreement. “We finished it with lunch.”
Nezumi is still watching him, looking somewhat impatient, as the realization slowly dawns on Shion.
“Wait, you want me to go?”
Nezumi sighs. “Unless you think you need an escort, then yes, Shion, I want you to go to the market. Please,” he adds with a smirk.
“Okay, but...” Shion pauses. “You’re better at this sort of thing than I am.”
“Well, no time like the present, right? Just make that face at them, and maybe, I don’t know, throw something in there about how you grew up in a bakery…” Nezumi waves a distracted hand in Shion’s direction. “You’ll be fine.”
“But I didn’t grow up in a bakery,” Shion says, frowning at Nezumi. “Not technically, anyway.”
Nezumi just smiles at him over his script, raising his eyebrows. “Details, details.”
**
Shion hears the first notes of music while he’s still outside on the stairs. He stops in his tracks, the loaf of bread tucked under his arm, and just listens for a moment. He’s sure it must be Nezumi playing, though of course technically, it could be anyone. Then again, something tells him that Nezumi’s piano may well be the only piano that exists in the West Block. The sound stops, and then starts again, repeating the last few strains. Shion hurries down the stairs, and sure enough the sound grows, filling the hallway the closer he gets to the door.
Nezumi doesn’t turn around, and doesn’t stop playing when Shion enters.
Shion makes his way to the couch, and sits down. He doesn’t bother with his coat, but lays the loaf of bread down on the table carefully before he leans forward, watching Nezumi hands move over the keys.
It’s not the same song from his dream, but the same feeling floods Shion’s body at the sound. The same warmth, the same energy.
The music swells to a peak, and then slows, and Nezumi, as if gradually realizing Shion’s presence, turns to him, fingers still moving.
“Hear something you like?” Nezumi asks, and his voice blends with the music, half-lost in the notes. The light in his eyes makes Shion’s chest clench and his face warm with excitement, and maybe a little with envy.
Nezumi looks happy, playing like this. He wonders if this is what Nezumi looks like when he’s on stage performing, too. Nezumi has always said that Eve has plenty of fans - Shion thinks maybe he knows why.
“It’s beautiful,” Shion says, a bit awestruck. “What is it?”
“Chopin, nocturne,” Nezumi murmurs, and then curses as he hits what must have been a wrong note. He stops and starts again.
“You’re not using music,” Shion observes.
“I’ve been playing like this for as long as I can remember.”
Shion just stares at him for a moment. He has a million questions he’d like to ask, of course; Nezumi so rarely mentions anything about his past, but Shion stays silent, and just listens.
The music is even more beautiful than it had been in his dream. He listens with rapt attention, and watches Nezumi’s back, the tiny movements in the muscles there; he stares at Nezumi’s shoulders as they move with the flow of the music. He wonders what it must be like to be so connected to something like this - to the sounds filling the room, and to the music which must be running through Nezumi’s head, and filtering out through his fingertips. It’s amazing, and it’s like nothing Shion has ever experienced.
“Amazing,” he says fervently, when Nezumi finishes, and for once, Nezumi doesn’t roll his eyes.
“Thanks,” he says. “I’m a little rusty. Not much time to practice these days, after all.”
Shion shakes his head. “I think you’re amazing. I’ve never seen anything like that before. It’s like the music in your head is connected to your fingers, and then… The piano lets me hear it too. I can’t imagine what that must feel like, playing like that.”
Nezumi fixes Shion with a curious look, and then shakes his head. “Come here,” he says after a moment. “Get rid of your coat.”
Shion obeys, and then finds himself sitting in front of the piano, staring down what feels like an entirely overwhelming number of keys in front of him. He has no idea how Nezumi does this - how on earth he even knows where to put his fingers. He cranes his head around, and finds Nezumi staring down at him, his face serious.
“Move your hands,” Nezumi says, and when Shion doesn’t, when he just stares up at Nezumi in confusion, Nezumi lifts Shion’s arms up from his lap by his wrists, gently. He places his fingers on the keys. The surface feels strange under his fingertips, cold and slippery.
He tilts his head up at Nezumi, and Nezumi shakes his head. “Don’t look at me, watch your fingers.”
Shion stares down at Nezumi’s hands as he guides them into place.
“This is middle C,” he says, “keep your thumb here.”
Nezumi is leaning over him, so close that Shion’s back is getting warm, and so close too, that when Nezumi speaks, Shion can feel the air around his ear move. It’s just a slight disturbance, but it sets the hair on Shion’s arms on end.
Nezumi is arranging his fingers, Shion’s left hand, now, and Shion notices for the first time how much longer Nezumi’s fingers are than his. Nezumi’s fingers are graceful, too, and his fingertips are surprisingly cold.
Nezumi moves his hands under Shion’s wrists, and lifts them slightly. “Keep your fingers on the keys,” he instructs. “That looks good.”
Nezumi keeps his hands where they are for a moment, fingers pressed to the base of Shion’s wrists. Shion wonders if Nezumi can feel his pulse hammering through his veins.
“Give it a try,” Nezumi says.
Shion does, and it feels strange, and sounds even stranger. He’s not sure what he’s doing wrong, but it certainly doesn’t sound like it did when Nezumi was playing.
“Try again.”
This time, when he presses his fingers to the keys, Shion can hear something resembling actual music. It’s a round, full sound.
“Congratulations,” Nezumi says, his hand on Shion’s shoulder. “You’ve just mastered the C Major chord.”
“Show me more,” Shion says, and behind him, he can hear Nezumi chuckle.
“What, that’s not enough for a first lesson?”
Nezumi moves over to the couch, leaning his head back, and throwing his arm over the edge. Shion turns away from the piano.
“Do you think I could learn to play like you if I practiced enough?”
Nezumi smiles a little, and raises his eyebrows suspiciously.
“With just me as your teacher? Probably not.”
Shion frowns. “There’s a book, too. I’ve read parts of it already...”
“I’m not sure how much you can learn from a book about playing piano.”
“I could learn by listening if you you’d play more.”
“That’s something that can be arranged,” Nezumi says, tilting his head at Shion, and smiling a little. “Let me know if you have any requests. You know, once you’ve finished the book.”
Shion smiles, and joins Nezumi on the couch. It’s chilly - he suddenly wishes he’d kept his coat on. He remembers Nezumi’s cold fingers against his skin, and blinks. Nezumi’s hands are folded back over his head now, he can’t see his fingers.
“Your fingers are longer than mine,” he says, folding his hands in his lap. “Does that make it easier to play?”
“Maybe a little. Never really thought about it.”
The room is quiet. If Shion concentrates, he can hear the intake of breath through Nezumi’s lips as he breathes.
“I could hear you playing all the way over by the stairs,” Shion says, and stretches his legs out under the coffee table. “At first I thought it might be someone else.”
“I doubt anyone else around here is in the habit of playing Chopin.” Nezumi pauses, and there’s a faraway look in his eyes. “You know, for a long time, after coming here, I was afraid to play, because of the noise. I didn’t want to draw unnecessary attention.”
Nezumi shifts on the couch and Shion feels Nezumi’s shoulder press up against his. He glances at Nezumi. His eyes are bright, clear. There’s a strand of hair that’s escaped from the rest. It hangs down next to Nezumi’s ear, limp and lifeless until Nezumi’s fingers move up to tuck it behind his ear.
“You’re not afraid anymore?” Shion asks, watching Nezumi return his hand to his lap. Nezumi’s Adam’s apple bobs as he swallows, and Shion feels his skin prickle a little under the collar of his shirt.
“I guess not,” Nezumi says. “It’s nice to have someone around who appreciates hearing it.”
“Really?”
“Yes, Shion. Really.” Nezumi pauses. “It’s not like I think all of your personality traits are bad. There are at least one or two that I don’t mind.”
“Really?” Shion has a hard time believing he’s just been given a compliment, but that’s what it feels like. Giddiness bubbles up in his throat; he almost laughs. “Which ones?” he asks without really thinking.
Nezumi laughs, but the sound cuts off quickly. “That, your majesty, is a question for another day,” he says, and lets out a long breath. “For now, let’s go with ‘thanks for listening to me play,’ okay?”
“Okay,” Shion says, and he’s sure he’s imagining it, but Nezumi seems pleased. Happy. Shion wonders if he’s happy because of the music, or it’s something else entirely. He wonders, suddenly, if Nezumi had been lonely these past four years. The thought makes his chest ache a little. He searches Nezumi’s face, carefully.
“If you hadn’t brought me here,” he says, remembering how the past four years had stretched on in monotony, even for him, and he’d had his mother, and the bakery. He thinks of Nezumi, alone in this room, and swallows past the lump in his throat. “Maybe I never would have been able to hear anyone play the piano.”
“I’m not just anyone, you know,” Nezumi says, and he’s smiling, that confident smirk that Shion knows so well, but in his eyes, Shion sees something else, something not-so-confident, like he’s searching for something in Shion’s eyes too…
“I just mean… I’m grateful to you. For letting me listen.”
Nezumi shifts his legs, crossing his ankles and then uncrossing them. His face is like smooth stone, his eyes rippling like the surface of the sea, just before a storm.
“Just make sure you’re ready for your second lesson,” Nezumi says finally. He stands, and glances down at Shion. “Somehow I know that you’ll be an extremely irritating student, but…” he brushes the fringe out of his eyes, “I might just be bored enough someday to give it a try.”
There’s a beat of silence, and the room goes completely still for a moment.
“And in exchange,” Nezumi says softly, “if I feel like it, I might play for you sometime.”
Shion smiles up at him. “I guess we have a deal then.” He offers Nezumi his hand. The lamp in the corner sparks and flickers, and Nezumi’s shadow shudders in response.
Shion imagines that the piano, its surface free of papers and clutter, hums its approval from the corner.
***
Author: analineblue
Fandom: No. 6
Pairing/Characters: Nezumi/Shion
Warnings/Spoilers: none
Rating: PG
Word Count: ~2,800
Beta: sariagray
Summary: Shion's curiosity about music leads to a piano lesson, more or less.
Notes: So I really wanted to see Nezumi playing piano, and then... This happened. ^_~ I hope you enjoy it! Comments are always greatly appreciated. ^_^
Shion had never seen a piano before he arrived in the West Block with Nezumi.
He’d seen pictures in books, years ago, when he was still young enough to have his mother read to him. They’d seemed rather large and mysterious then, inaccessible, to a certain degree. In one book, the child shown seated at the keyboard had seemed almost lost in front of it, engulfed by the instrument’s enormity. On the glossy pages of a child’s picture book, there’d been no real sense of scale though, no sense of actual size, or sound or anything, really - it was just an object on a page.
Still, the piano in Nezumi’s room seems smaller than he had imagined.
He forgets it’s there sometimes, especially considering its main function is to act as another surface for Nezumi to cover with papers - an overflow area for when the stacks of books on the coffee table become too precarious. Sometimes, on laundry days, Nezumi drapes his scarf over the top to dry.
But Shion has occasionally heard sounds coming from it, too. Soaking in the bath one night, he thinks he hears Nezumi humming and can make out the strands of a melody, too, smooth tones that blend into each other as if they’re all parts of some collective whole.
By the time he’s dried off and changed, Nezumi is propped on his back on the bed, reading, and the room is silent.
**
Shion doesn’t know much of anything about music - the schools in No.6 didn’t teach the arts, and he doesn’t know anyone who can actually read music other than Nezumi. He stares sometimes at the yellowed pages on the wall, during the day when Nezumi is out, and tries to imagine what Nezumi must see when he looks at the tiny dots of black, with their flags and symbols and patterns.
Nezumi has books on music, of course, just like he has books on pretty much every topic Shion is able to imagine. Shion finds them one day, next to a set of encyclopedias, and just below a collection of dog-eared science journals. (Shion has already read those in their entirety, despite the fact that they’re more than a few years out of date.) Shion isn’t sure how much he can learn about the complexity of music from a book, but he also figures it’s worth a try.
After an afternoon of reading, he’s got the basic terminology, the classes of instruments, and the names of the major composers of the 20th century memorized. The chapter on music theory, which he had thought might feel a little more familiar, given its resemblance to math, ends up being the hardest section for him to grasp. He makes a mental note to ask Nezumi to explain the circle of fifths to him, among other things, someday.
**
That night Shion dreams of black and white keys that stretch off in to the horizon endlessly. The 12 tones of the chromatic scale circle his head, floating and buzzing like insects.
Nezumi is there too - he’s sitting at a huge piano that’s much bigger than the one in his room. It’s black and its surface shines in the soft light of his dream, the lid of the grand piano angling up into the room like a great drawbridge.
Nezumi’s fingers are moving, sweeping across the keys, and the sounds that fill the room are the most beautiful sounds Shion thinks he’s ever heard. It’s as if they lodge somewhere in his chest, and stay there, filling him with warmth until he wakes up.
**
“So what was I playing,” Nezumi asks over breakfast, breaking off a piece of bread and throwing several crumbs to the mice, who wait patiently for their meal on the floor next to his chair. Nezumi is watching Shion curiously, his eyebrows raised in interest. “In your dream,” he prompts again.
Shion frowns as he tries to recall the sounds, failing miserably. They’ve faded away with the morning, like they always do. “I don’t know. I don’t remember. It was really pretty though.”
Nezumi rolls his eyes. “Seriously? Pretty? That narrows it down.”
“What’s wrong with ‘pretty’?”
“Nothing, never mind. And anyway, if you want to hear me play, that can obviously be arranged. For a small fee, of course.”
Shion’s brow furrows. “Nezumi…”
Nezumi laughs, and the sound fills the room. It’s the sort of thing that always takes Shion by surprise, though he’s sure he should be used to it by now.
“That was a joke, by the way,” Nezumi says, still smiling. “I wouldn’t dream of taking your hard earned money for something like that.”
Shion watches Nezumi tear another piece of bread from the loaf they’ve been sharing. He glances at the piano. There are papers scattered across the keys. Tsukiyo has perched himself in a corner, and is dutifully nibbling at the spine of a slender book whose title has practically been worn off already. Shion can’t quite make it out, but figures that it’s probably a play. The thin ones usually are. He glances back at Nezumi, and realizes that they’re both watching Tsukiyo, who stares back at them blankly.
**
“We’re out of bread,” Nezumi announces, looking up over the script he’s been reviewing for the past hour. It’s a rare afternoon that finds both him and Shion home together, and they’ve spent the time so far catching up on reading.
Shion nods in agreement. “We finished it with lunch.”
Nezumi is still watching him, looking somewhat impatient, as the realization slowly dawns on Shion.
“Wait, you want me to go?”
Nezumi sighs. “Unless you think you need an escort, then yes, Shion, I want you to go to the market. Please,” he adds with a smirk.
“Okay, but...” Shion pauses. “You’re better at this sort of thing than I am.”
“Well, no time like the present, right? Just make that face at them, and maybe, I don’t know, throw something in there about how you grew up in a bakery…” Nezumi waves a distracted hand in Shion’s direction. “You’ll be fine.”
“But I didn’t grow up in a bakery,” Shion says, frowning at Nezumi. “Not technically, anyway.”
Nezumi just smiles at him over his script, raising his eyebrows. “Details, details.”
**
Shion hears the first notes of music while he’s still outside on the stairs. He stops in his tracks, the loaf of bread tucked under his arm, and just listens for a moment. He’s sure it must be Nezumi playing, though of course technically, it could be anyone. Then again, something tells him that Nezumi’s piano may well be the only piano that exists in the West Block. The sound stops, and then starts again, repeating the last few strains. Shion hurries down the stairs, and sure enough the sound grows, filling the hallway the closer he gets to the door.
Nezumi doesn’t turn around, and doesn’t stop playing when Shion enters.
Shion makes his way to the couch, and sits down. He doesn’t bother with his coat, but lays the loaf of bread down on the table carefully before he leans forward, watching Nezumi hands move over the keys.
It’s not the same song from his dream, but the same feeling floods Shion’s body at the sound. The same warmth, the same energy.
The music swells to a peak, and then slows, and Nezumi, as if gradually realizing Shion’s presence, turns to him, fingers still moving.
“Hear something you like?” Nezumi asks, and his voice blends with the music, half-lost in the notes. The light in his eyes makes Shion’s chest clench and his face warm with excitement, and maybe a little with envy.
Nezumi looks happy, playing like this. He wonders if this is what Nezumi looks like when he’s on stage performing, too. Nezumi has always said that Eve has plenty of fans - Shion thinks maybe he knows why.
“It’s beautiful,” Shion says, a bit awestruck. “What is it?”
“Chopin, nocturne,” Nezumi murmurs, and then curses as he hits what must have been a wrong note. He stops and starts again.
“You’re not using music,” Shion observes.
“I’ve been playing like this for as long as I can remember.”
Shion just stares at him for a moment. He has a million questions he’d like to ask, of course; Nezumi so rarely mentions anything about his past, but Shion stays silent, and just listens.
The music is even more beautiful than it had been in his dream. He listens with rapt attention, and watches Nezumi’s back, the tiny movements in the muscles there; he stares at Nezumi’s shoulders as they move with the flow of the music. He wonders what it must be like to be so connected to something like this - to the sounds filling the room, and to the music which must be running through Nezumi’s head, and filtering out through his fingertips. It’s amazing, and it’s like nothing Shion has ever experienced.
“Amazing,” he says fervently, when Nezumi finishes, and for once, Nezumi doesn’t roll his eyes.
“Thanks,” he says. “I’m a little rusty. Not much time to practice these days, after all.”
Shion shakes his head. “I think you’re amazing. I’ve never seen anything like that before. It’s like the music in your head is connected to your fingers, and then… The piano lets me hear it too. I can’t imagine what that must feel like, playing like that.”
Nezumi fixes Shion with a curious look, and then shakes his head. “Come here,” he says after a moment. “Get rid of your coat.”
Shion obeys, and then finds himself sitting in front of the piano, staring down what feels like an entirely overwhelming number of keys in front of him. He has no idea how Nezumi does this - how on earth he even knows where to put his fingers. He cranes his head around, and finds Nezumi staring down at him, his face serious.
“Move your hands,” Nezumi says, and when Shion doesn’t, when he just stares up at Nezumi in confusion, Nezumi lifts Shion’s arms up from his lap by his wrists, gently. He places his fingers on the keys. The surface feels strange under his fingertips, cold and slippery.
He tilts his head up at Nezumi, and Nezumi shakes his head. “Don’t look at me, watch your fingers.”
Shion stares down at Nezumi’s hands as he guides them into place.
“This is middle C,” he says, “keep your thumb here.”
Nezumi is leaning over him, so close that Shion’s back is getting warm, and so close too, that when Nezumi speaks, Shion can feel the air around his ear move. It’s just a slight disturbance, but it sets the hair on Shion’s arms on end.
Nezumi is arranging his fingers, Shion’s left hand, now, and Shion notices for the first time how much longer Nezumi’s fingers are than his. Nezumi’s fingers are graceful, too, and his fingertips are surprisingly cold.
Nezumi moves his hands under Shion’s wrists, and lifts them slightly. “Keep your fingers on the keys,” he instructs. “That looks good.”
Nezumi keeps his hands where they are for a moment, fingers pressed to the base of Shion’s wrists. Shion wonders if Nezumi can feel his pulse hammering through his veins.
“Give it a try,” Nezumi says.
Shion does, and it feels strange, and sounds even stranger. He’s not sure what he’s doing wrong, but it certainly doesn’t sound like it did when Nezumi was playing.
“Try again.”
This time, when he presses his fingers to the keys, Shion can hear something resembling actual music. It’s a round, full sound.
“Congratulations,” Nezumi says, his hand on Shion’s shoulder. “You’ve just mastered the C Major chord.”
“Show me more,” Shion says, and behind him, he can hear Nezumi chuckle.
“What, that’s not enough for a first lesson?”
Nezumi moves over to the couch, leaning his head back, and throwing his arm over the edge. Shion turns away from the piano.
“Do you think I could learn to play like you if I practiced enough?”
Nezumi smiles a little, and raises his eyebrows suspiciously.
“With just me as your teacher? Probably not.”
Shion frowns. “There’s a book, too. I’ve read parts of it already...”
“I’m not sure how much you can learn from a book about playing piano.”
“I could learn by listening if you you’d play more.”
“That’s something that can be arranged,” Nezumi says, tilting his head at Shion, and smiling a little. “Let me know if you have any requests. You know, once you’ve finished the book.”
Shion smiles, and joins Nezumi on the couch. It’s chilly - he suddenly wishes he’d kept his coat on. He remembers Nezumi’s cold fingers against his skin, and blinks. Nezumi’s hands are folded back over his head now, he can’t see his fingers.
“Your fingers are longer than mine,” he says, folding his hands in his lap. “Does that make it easier to play?”
“Maybe a little. Never really thought about it.”
The room is quiet. If Shion concentrates, he can hear the intake of breath through Nezumi’s lips as he breathes.
“I could hear you playing all the way over by the stairs,” Shion says, and stretches his legs out under the coffee table. “At first I thought it might be someone else.”
“I doubt anyone else around here is in the habit of playing Chopin.” Nezumi pauses, and there’s a faraway look in his eyes. “You know, for a long time, after coming here, I was afraid to play, because of the noise. I didn’t want to draw unnecessary attention.”
Nezumi shifts on the couch and Shion feels Nezumi’s shoulder press up against his. He glances at Nezumi. His eyes are bright, clear. There’s a strand of hair that’s escaped from the rest. It hangs down next to Nezumi’s ear, limp and lifeless until Nezumi’s fingers move up to tuck it behind his ear.
“You’re not afraid anymore?” Shion asks, watching Nezumi return his hand to his lap. Nezumi’s Adam’s apple bobs as he swallows, and Shion feels his skin prickle a little under the collar of his shirt.
“I guess not,” Nezumi says. “It’s nice to have someone around who appreciates hearing it.”
“Really?”
“Yes, Shion. Really.” Nezumi pauses. “It’s not like I think all of your personality traits are bad. There are at least one or two that I don’t mind.”
“Really?” Shion has a hard time believing he’s just been given a compliment, but that’s what it feels like. Giddiness bubbles up in his throat; he almost laughs. “Which ones?” he asks without really thinking.
Nezumi laughs, but the sound cuts off quickly. “That, your majesty, is a question for another day,” he says, and lets out a long breath. “For now, let’s go with ‘thanks for listening to me play,’ okay?”
“Okay,” Shion says, and he’s sure he’s imagining it, but Nezumi seems pleased. Happy. Shion wonders if he’s happy because of the music, or it’s something else entirely. He wonders, suddenly, if Nezumi had been lonely these past four years. The thought makes his chest ache a little. He searches Nezumi’s face, carefully.
“If you hadn’t brought me here,” he says, remembering how the past four years had stretched on in monotony, even for him, and he’d had his mother, and the bakery. He thinks of Nezumi, alone in this room, and swallows past the lump in his throat. “Maybe I never would have been able to hear anyone play the piano.”
“I’m not just anyone, you know,” Nezumi says, and he’s smiling, that confident smirk that Shion knows so well, but in his eyes, Shion sees something else, something not-so-confident, like he’s searching for something in Shion’s eyes too…
“I just mean… I’m grateful to you. For letting me listen.”
Nezumi shifts his legs, crossing his ankles and then uncrossing them. His face is like smooth stone, his eyes rippling like the surface of the sea, just before a storm.
“Just make sure you’re ready for your second lesson,” Nezumi says finally. He stands, and glances down at Shion. “Somehow I know that you’ll be an extremely irritating student, but…” he brushes the fringe out of his eyes, “I might just be bored enough someday to give it a try.”
There’s a beat of silence, and the room goes completely still for a moment.
“And in exchange,” Nezumi says softly, “if I feel like it, I might play for you sometime.”
Shion smiles up at him. “I guess we have a deal then.” He offers Nezumi his hand. The lamp in the corner sparks and flickers, and Nezumi’s shadow shudders in response.
Shion imagines that the piano, its surface free of papers and clutter, hums its approval from the corner.
***