Pianissimo: 03 (La Corda d'Oro, Ryoutarou/Len)
Title: Pianissimo ~ A Violin & Piano Romance
03: Duet
Fandom: La Corda d’Oro
Pairing: Eventual Ryoutarou Tsuchiura x Len Tsukimori
Rating: PG-13, if only for a bit of language and some innuendo
Disclaimer: La Corda d’Oro and its characters do not belong to me.
Summary: Future fic. A series of one-shots and drabbles following the progression of the relationship between Ryoutarou and Len, from feuding roommates to friends to lovers.
[1]
The first time they played together, the sound they made was most dreadful.
Len was practicing with the sunrise as he was wont to do when he didn’t stay up late at night. He had the windows open and the fresh light was spilling in and it was all very golden and beautiful.
And that was quite possibly why Ryoutarou decided to join him.
The very first key played on the piano clashed horribly with the violin’s note. Len stopped abruptly, bow screeching, as if jerked into reality and turned his head to scowl at the intruder.
“Well, that was pretty awful, huh?” Ryoutarou laughed good-naturedly, only to be ignored as Len put his violin back in its case and brushed past him, disappearing into his room.
[~]
[a man in the stands]
Warm-ups before games were an excuse for the guys to brag about who was coming to see them. Ryoutarou used to brag about Kahoko, but he had to stop once everyone realized things weren’t going anywhere between them.
During stretches, winger Basho boasted about the mega-hot girl he’d banged the night before, but he clamped his mouth shut in embarrassment when the others remarked, through their laughter, how hung over she looked, all slumped in her seat.
During laps, forward Nobu proudly pointed out his big brother, a naval officer, who had come home after spending four years in the Indian Ocean, where he helped prevent the transportation of illegal weapons and ammunition.
During passing drills, sweeper Akira spoke shyly of his fiancée, blushing when she waved to him with delicate, waggling fingers. The others teased him relentlessly.
During shooting drills, goalie Oda wiped a tear from his eye as he nodded to where his little baby girl was bouncing on her mother’s knee.
And as they got into their respective positions, Sasaki elbowed Ryoutarou and pointed to the stands, saying with a smirk, “Hey, man. I think he’s here for you.”
Ryoutarou didn’t need to look to know he was talking about Len. He didn’t say anything about it and the others were unable to tease him afterwards, because he played his very best game that day and the other team didn’t make a single goal.
[~]
[a man who sews]
Ryoutarou thought that maybe he was just losing his mind when one day his clothes had holes and the next day they didn’t. It made much more sense to think that than to think Len was fixing them, anyway.
“I didn’t know you could sew.” Ryoutarou stood in the doorway of Len’s bedroom, rubbing at his arm in an almost-embarrassed fashion. His mother had been the only person to patch up a pair of his jeans, and watching Len do it was sort of disconcerting.
“That doesn’t surprise me,” Len said vaguely, concentrating on his task.
“Man of many hidden talents, huh?” Ryoutarou laughed uneasily, uncertain where to put this image. Should he file it away in the cabinet of things never to think about? Or add it to the unfortunately small arsenal of things to someday use against his roommate? Or did this belong in the slowly growing category of things concerning Len that caused that inexplicable feeling in his chest?
“Hm.” Len was ignoring him, so Ryoutarou stopped talking and just watched. He watched the movement of Len’s fingers, trying desperately not to mistake skillfulness for tenderness. “Here,” Len said finally, tossing the jeans to the pianist.
“Thanks,” he said, catching the jeans, the word slipping out before he realized it, but he meant it, all the same.
“It’s not a big deal,” Len said. But Ryoutarou saw the tiny-tiny-tiny smile that Len amazingly didn’t even try to hide, and he thought that maybe it kind of was.
[~]
[2]
The second time they played together, the sound they made was oddly violent.
Ryoutarou had suggested it, and Len was reluctant, but ultimately didn’t protest. Ryoutarou cracked his knuckles before putting fingers to keys, just because it made Len cringe. Then he slowly started playing the first violin and piano piece that came into his head: Chopin’s Etude in E major, the first piece he and Kahoko had played together. For a while, Len didn’t do anything, just stood there with his back to him.
“What’s wrong?” He asked, pausing.
“Nothing. Keep going.”
Shrugging, Ryoutarou resumed and gradually, Len joined in. But it was all wrong. Each time Len’s bow met strings, the note produced was louder than necessary, and harsh. Ryoutarou dealt with it for a bit, but it was deliberate, he could tell, and he stopped.
“What are you doing?”
Len stopped, too, and looked over his shoulder with narrowed eyes. “Being difficult.”
Unbelievable.
“Why?”
“Why did you pick that piece?”
“Because it’s one of my-”
“Because you played it with Hino, right?”
Un-fucking-believable.
“That’s not-” Ryoutarou hesitated, frowning. He didn’t know why Len was acting this way, and it was pissing him off. “Yes,” he said, bitingly. “That’s why.”
“I thought so,” was Len’s response, just as icy. “Then why don’t you stick to playing it with her?” And he grabbed his violin case, holding the instrument to his chest, and disappeared into his room.
[~]
[a man with a boat]
Rainy days were spent in the living room. Ryoutarou wasn’t sure how that habit started, but he didn’t mind it. The rain did something to them-calmed them, he guessed. And it made for moments that were almost friendly and, at the least, comfortable. They were lying on the floor together; Ryoutarou was on his back, close to nodding off into a light snooze, and Len was on his stomach, shopping on his laptop.
Yawning, Ryoutarou turned onto his side. “What are you looking at?”
“Chandeliers,” Len replied coolly, holding his chin in his hand and regarding the computer screen like he shopped for chandeliers everyday.
“What, are you planning on pimping out the apartment?” Ryoutarou laughed.
Len gave him an unwavering look. “…”
“You know, pimping. That’s a cool thing to say, isn’t it?”
“…”
“Nevermind.”
“Thank you.”
Len looked back at the laptop and Ryoutarou rolled his eyes almost-fondly. “So, the chandeliers?”
“They’re for my boat.”
Ryoutarou couldn’t help the way his jaw went a little slack. “You have a-boat?”
“Mmhm,” Len hummed, clicking at something a couple of times. “A yacht.”
“A yacht. Right. Of course.” Ryoutarou rolled onto his back again, shaking his head in wonderment. “It’s a big boat, then.”
“It’s big, all right.”
“You’ll have to show me sometime.”
“I’ll show you mine if you show me yours.”
Ryoutarou choked on the sudden laugh that erupted from him while Len smirked faintly, and the rain tapped genially against their windows.
[~]
[a man with an itch]
“Scratch my back.”
Ryoutarou looked up incredulously from the tomato he was slicing for a salad, nearly cutting off his own finger.
“What?”
“Scratch my back,” Len said, turning around. “I have this awful itch and I can’t reach it, so I need you-”
“You what?”
“I have this awful itch,” Len repeated sharply, “and I can’t reach it, so I need you to-”
“You what?” Ryoutarou grinned.
“I need-” Len stiffened in understanding and continued somewhat haltingly. “I need you to scratch it for me.”
Letting a smug chuckle escape as he set down his knife, Ryoutarou reached out and tentatively scratched, awaiting directions.
“Lower,” Len commanded as if he hadn’t just been caught in a moment of weakness. “Now over. No, over the other way. Now up. Down. I said down. …You’re doing this on purpose, aren’t you?”
Ryoutarou had never enjoyed scratching someone’s back so much.
[~]
[3]
The third time they played together, the sound they made was…better.
Len picked the piece- Tchaikovsky’s “Valse Sentimentale”-and Ryoutarou graciously cracked his knuckles beforehand in another room. They started a bit slowly, getting a genuine feel for each other’s playing for perhaps the first time.
And it wasn’t perfect. They weren’t always together and they didn’t always harmonize the way they should’ve, because they didn’t completely trust each other just yet. But it was definitely better.
“At least we finished the piece this time,” Ryoutarou laughed good-naturedly; Len said nothing, just put his violin back in its case, tossing him a tiny-tiny-tiny smile before disappearing into his room.
03: Duet
Fandom: La Corda d’Oro
Pairing: Eventual Ryoutarou Tsuchiura x Len Tsukimori
Rating: PG-13, if only for a bit of language and some innuendo
Disclaimer: La Corda d’Oro and its characters do not belong to me.
Summary: Future fic. A series of one-shots and drabbles following the progression of the relationship between Ryoutarou and Len, from feuding roommates to friends to lovers.
[1]
The first time they played together, the sound they made was most dreadful.
Len was practicing with the sunrise as he was wont to do when he didn’t stay up late at night. He had the windows open and the fresh light was spilling in and it was all very golden and beautiful.
And that was quite possibly why Ryoutarou decided to join him.
The very first key played on the piano clashed horribly with the violin’s note. Len stopped abruptly, bow screeching, as if jerked into reality and turned his head to scowl at the intruder.
“Well, that was pretty awful, huh?” Ryoutarou laughed good-naturedly, only to be ignored as Len put his violin back in its case and brushed past him, disappearing into his room.
[~]
[a man in the stands]
Warm-ups before games were an excuse for the guys to brag about who was coming to see them. Ryoutarou used to brag about Kahoko, but he had to stop once everyone realized things weren’t going anywhere between them.
During stretches, winger Basho boasted about the mega-hot girl he’d banged the night before, but he clamped his mouth shut in embarrassment when the others remarked, through their laughter, how hung over she looked, all slumped in her seat.
During laps, forward Nobu proudly pointed out his big brother, a naval officer, who had come home after spending four years in the Indian Ocean, where he helped prevent the transportation of illegal weapons and ammunition.
During passing drills, sweeper Akira spoke shyly of his fiancée, blushing when she waved to him with delicate, waggling fingers. The others teased him relentlessly.
During shooting drills, goalie Oda wiped a tear from his eye as he nodded to where his little baby girl was bouncing on her mother’s knee.
And as they got into their respective positions, Sasaki elbowed Ryoutarou and pointed to the stands, saying with a smirk, “Hey, man. I think he’s here for you.”
Ryoutarou didn’t need to look to know he was talking about Len. He didn’t say anything about it and the others were unable to tease him afterwards, because he played his very best game that day and the other team didn’t make a single goal.
[~]
[a man who sews]
Ryoutarou thought that maybe he was just losing his mind when one day his clothes had holes and the next day they didn’t. It made much more sense to think that than to think Len was fixing them, anyway.
“I didn’t know you could sew.” Ryoutarou stood in the doorway of Len’s bedroom, rubbing at his arm in an almost-embarrassed fashion. His mother had been the only person to patch up a pair of his jeans, and watching Len do it was sort of disconcerting.
“That doesn’t surprise me,” Len said vaguely, concentrating on his task.
“Man of many hidden talents, huh?” Ryoutarou laughed uneasily, uncertain where to put this image. Should he file it away in the cabinet of things never to think about? Or add it to the unfortunately small arsenal of things to someday use against his roommate? Or did this belong in the slowly growing category of things concerning Len that caused that inexplicable feeling in his chest?
“Hm.” Len was ignoring him, so Ryoutarou stopped talking and just watched. He watched the movement of Len’s fingers, trying desperately not to mistake skillfulness for tenderness. “Here,” Len said finally, tossing the jeans to the pianist.
“Thanks,” he said, catching the jeans, the word slipping out before he realized it, but he meant it, all the same.
“It’s not a big deal,” Len said. But Ryoutarou saw the tiny-tiny-tiny smile that Len amazingly didn’t even try to hide, and he thought that maybe it kind of was.
[~]
[2]
The second time they played together, the sound they made was oddly violent.
Ryoutarou had suggested it, and Len was reluctant, but ultimately didn’t protest. Ryoutarou cracked his knuckles before putting fingers to keys, just because it made Len cringe. Then he slowly started playing the first violin and piano piece that came into his head: Chopin’s Etude in E major, the first piece he and Kahoko had played together. For a while, Len didn’t do anything, just stood there with his back to him.
“What’s wrong?” He asked, pausing.
“Nothing. Keep going.”
Shrugging, Ryoutarou resumed and gradually, Len joined in. But it was all wrong. Each time Len’s bow met strings, the note produced was louder than necessary, and harsh. Ryoutarou dealt with it for a bit, but it was deliberate, he could tell, and he stopped.
“What are you doing?”
Len stopped, too, and looked over his shoulder with narrowed eyes. “Being difficult.”
Unbelievable.
“Why?”
“Why did you pick that piece?”
“Because it’s one of my-”
“Because you played it with Hino, right?”
Un-fucking-believable.
“That’s not-” Ryoutarou hesitated, frowning. He didn’t know why Len was acting this way, and it was pissing him off. “Yes,” he said, bitingly. “That’s why.”
“I thought so,” was Len’s response, just as icy. “Then why don’t you stick to playing it with her?” And he grabbed his violin case, holding the instrument to his chest, and disappeared into his room.
[~]
[a man with a boat]
Rainy days were spent in the living room. Ryoutarou wasn’t sure how that habit started, but he didn’t mind it. The rain did something to them-calmed them, he guessed. And it made for moments that were almost friendly and, at the least, comfortable. They were lying on the floor together; Ryoutarou was on his back, close to nodding off into a light snooze, and Len was on his stomach, shopping on his laptop.
Yawning, Ryoutarou turned onto his side. “What are you looking at?”
“Chandeliers,” Len replied coolly, holding his chin in his hand and regarding the computer screen like he shopped for chandeliers everyday.
“What, are you planning on pimping out the apartment?” Ryoutarou laughed.
Len gave him an unwavering look. “…”
“You know, pimping. That’s a cool thing to say, isn’t it?”
“…”
“Nevermind.”
“Thank you.”
Len looked back at the laptop and Ryoutarou rolled his eyes almost-fondly. “So, the chandeliers?”
“They’re for my boat.”
Ryoutarou couldn’t help the way his jaw went a little slack. “You have a-boat?”
“Mmhm,” Len hummed, clicking at something a couple of times. “A yacht.”
“A yacht. Right. Of course.” Ryoutarou rolled onto his back again, shaking his head in wonderment. “It’s a big boat, then.”
“It’s big, all right.”
“You’ll have to show me sometime.”
“I’ll show you mine if you show me yours.”
Ryoutarou choked on the sudden laugh that erupted from him while Len smirked faintly, and the rain tapped genially against their windows.
[~]
[a man with an itch]
“Scratch my back.”
Ryoutarou looked up incredulously from the tomato he was slicing for a salad, nearly cutting off his own finger.
“What?”
“Scratch my back,” Len said, turning around. “I have this awful itch and I can’t reach it, so I need you-”
“You what?”
“I have this awful itch,” Len repeated sharply, “and I can’t reach it, so I need you to-”
“You what?” Ryoutarou grinned.
“I need-” Len stiffened in understanding and continued somewhat haltingly. “I need you to scratch it for me.”
Letting a smug chuckle escape as he set down his knife, Ryoutarou reached out and tentatively scratched, awaiting directions.
“Lower,” Len commanded as if he hadn’t just been caught in a moment of weakness. “Now over. No, over the other way. Now up. Down. I said down. …You’re doing this on purpose, aren’t you?”
Ryoutarou had never enjoyed scratching someone’s back so much.
[~]
[3]
The third time they played together, the sound they made was…better.
Len picked the piece- Tchaikovsky’s “Valse Sentimentale”-and Ryoutarou graciously cracked his knuckles beforehand in another room. They started a bit slowly, getting a genuine feel for each other’s playing for perhaps the first time.
And it wasn’t perfect. They weren’t always together and they didn’t always harmonize the way they should’ve, because they didn’t completely trust each other just yet. But it was definitely better.
“At least we finished the piece this time,” Ryoutarou laughed good-naturedly; Len said nothing, just put his violin back in its case, tossing him a tiny-tiny-tiny smile before disappearing into his room.