her little brother's music
Written on May 31, 2009 LOL ;; Been rotting in my folder for a year, wtf XD; I've been out of the fandom for a while now, so I have no idea if Gokudera's history came up already or whut :( But hope it's enjoyable, anyway? :D;; ♥
Title: Her Little Brother's Music
Author: ieatchu / shikanashi_kk
Genre: Gen, Angst
Rating: G
Word Count: 921
Disclaimer: KHR and all of its characters do not belong to me.
Summary: Little Gokudera, his mother, Little Bianchi, and his music.
her little brother's music
Gokudera Hayato.
Ever since he could remember, piano made more sense together with the word ‘mother’ rather than the word ‘music’.
He was no more than months old. Little fingers trailed along white, piano keys; ivorite touching his fingertips. His rounded eyes grew wide, curious and awed at how smooth and cold it felt beneath his skin. Just like what he saw his mother doing, he pressed a small palm down, pressing the key with him.
A high ‘do’ resounded in the room, and seemed to linger in the air.
A chuckle.
Soft and comforting.
Most of all, familiar.
A hand, much bigger than his and warmer than the piano keys, landed on his and squeezed it gently.
He looked up, into the face of an angel, and smiled when she did. Gently, she showed his fingers how to move across the keys, and led him note after note after note.
And he played wonderfully.
It was weird, little Gokudera thought, how his father would be so loving to his mother when they were alone, but indifferent when with an audience. Little Gokudera didn't like his father's tight smiles, but most of all, he didn't like his mother's sad, understanding ones.
Little Gokudera didn't know what they meant, but he knew that they weren't as beautiful as the real, bright smiles that his mother gives him when he says 'Mama, mama!'.
Little Gokudera loved his sister. Very much. He was scared of her at first, but soon came to love poking her with his small hands when his mother was away. Where, Gokudera didn't know and he didn't think to know, so he simply occupied himself with pulling his sister's hair.
Bianchi wasn't as enthusiastic as Little Gokudera though.
She did not like having her hair pulled or having Little Gokudera spray baby food on her whenever he'd giggle while eating.
Besides, she did not hear any news of her mother being pregnant. How was an only child like her supposed to react when your father suddenly introduces you to a baby already a few years old and says "He's your little brother."?
She locked herself in her room for three days.
Bianchi did not like Little Gokudera.
She realized that one fine afternoon when she and Gokudera's mother first, dare she say the word, bonded.
She did not want to bond. Bianchi was a girl who kept to herself, mainly faulted by her father who spoiled her but never really bothered to spend time with her.
But then Gokudera's mother had to ruin everything and offer to brush her hair.
Gokudera's mother sang songs that her own mother sang to her when she was a little girl, and her voice was like an angel, indeed.
Bianchi did not like Little Gokudera because she wished that his mother was her's.
Gokudera's mother taught him the piano. Gokudera always looked forward to their visits to the music room because he liked how soft his mother's music sounded. It was wonderful on his little ears.
Gokudera had been playing long before he knew how to really play, and his music sounded awful, contrary to that of his mother's.
But it was okay.
His mother still smiled at him and patiently guided his fingers across the smooth ivorite of the piano keys.
Little Gokudera loved the piano.
Little Gokudera loved his mommy very much.
His mommy loved him more.
Little Gokudera also loved his sister very much.
At first she did not want to admit it, but Bianchi found herself not minding the hair pulling after Little Gokudera plucked flowers from the garden and came running to her.
Little Gokudera's first memory of the piano was with his mother.
His last memory of his mother was with the piano.
It was ironic, really.
Bianchi knew that Gokudera's mother sometimes disappeared for a few days, leaving Little Gokudera in her care. She did not know why, and she did not ask where.
But when Gokuera's mother did not come home for a week, she knew.
And Little Gokudera somehow knew too.
He locked himself in his room.
When he came out, he was a different person.
Bianchi wondered where the little brother she had just grown to love went.
Bianchi crossed her arms and leaned against the wall. She looked at the painting in front of her, but didn’t bother to see. Her eyes may have been far, but she strained her ears to be very sharp. Behind the wall, she could hear notes of Beethoven’s/Bach’s melancholic yet frustrated music. It was a few tempos faster than what was passable for her little brother’s music teacher, but Bianchi wasn’t Mrs. Pioggia.
She closed her eyes.
Beneath the notes, she could also hear her brother’s silent tears.
Sunlight filtered through the curtains, lighting the dust that covered the once shiny ebony of the grand piano.
She leaned against the door, except this time, she was inside rather than out.
The room felt melancholic. Nostalgic, Bianca thought, but that probably wasn’t the right word.
After all, it wasn’t her who spent every waking hour in this room, making music with his angel of a mother.
Today, however, there were no angels.
There was no more ‘Mother’.
There hasn’t been for a month now.
The music in Bianchi’s head had gone and disappeared from her memories due to time.
Bianchi missed it. It was a part of her. Her little brother’s music was a part of her.
The angel had gone.
And so did her little brother’s music.
fin
Title: Her Little Brother's Music
Author: ieatchu / shikanashi_kk
Genre: Gen, Angst
Rating: G
Word Count: 921
Disclaimer: KHR and all of its characters do not belong to me.
Summary: Little Gokudera, his mother, Little Bianchi, and his music.
her little brother's music
Gokudera Hayato.
Ever since he could remember, piano made more sense together with the word ‘mother’ rather than the word ‘music’.
He was no more than months old. Little fingers trailed along white, piano keys; ivorite touching his fingertips. His rounded eyes grew wide, curious and awed at how smooth and cold it felt beneath his skin. Just like what he saw his mother doing, he pressed a small palm down, pressing the key with him.
A high ‘do’ resounded in the room, and seemed to linger in the air.
A chuckle.
Soft and comforting.
Most of all, familiar.
A hand, much bigger than his and warmer than the piano keys, landed on his and squeezed it gently.
He looked up, into the face of an angel, and smiled when she did. Gently, she showed his fingers how to move across the keys, and led him note after note after note.
And he played wonderfully.
It was weird, little Gokudera thought, how his father would be so loving to his mother when they were alone, but indifferent when with an audience. Little Gokudera didn't like his father's tight smiles, but most of all, he didn't like his mother's sad, understanding ones.
Little Gokudera didn't know what they meant, but he knew that they weren't as beautiful as the real, bright smiles that his mother gives him when he says 'Mama, mama!'.
Little Gokudera loved his sister. Very much. He was scared of her at first, but soon came to love poking her with his small hands when his mother was away. Where, Gokudera didn't know and he didn't think to know, so he simply occupied himself with pulling his sister's hair.
Bianchi wasn't as enthusiastic as Little Gokudera though.
She did not like having her hair pulled or having Little Gokudera spray baby food on her whenever he'd giggle while eating.
Besides, she did not hear any news of her mother being pregnant. How was an only child like her supposed to react when your father suddenly introduces you to a baby already a few years old and says "He's your little brother."?
She locked herself in her room for three days.
Bianchi did not like Little Gokudera.
She realized that one fine afternoon when she and Gokudera's mother first, dare she say the word, bonded.
She did not want to bond. Bianchi was a girl who kept to herself, mainly faulted by her father who spoiled her but never really bothered to spend time with her.
But then Gokudera's mother had to ruin everything and offer to brush her hair.
Gokudera's mother sang songs that her own mother sang to her when she was a little girl, and her voice was like an angel, indeed.
Bianchi did not like Little Gokudera because she wished that his mother was her's.
Gokudera's mother taught him the piano. Gokudera always looked forward to their visits to the music room because he liked how soft his mother's music sounded. It was wonderful on his little ears.
Gokudera had been playing long before he knew how to really play, and his music sounded awful, contrary to that of his mother's.
But it was okay.
His mother still smiled at him and patiently guided his fingers across the smooth ivorite of the piano keys.
Little Gokudera loved the piano.
Little Gokudera loved his mommy very much.
His mommy loved him more.
Little Gokudera also loved his sister very much.
At first she did not want to admit it, but Bianchi found herself not minding the hair pulling after Little Gokudera plucked flowers from the garden and came running to her.
Little Gokudera's first memory of the piano was with his mother.
His last memory of his mother was with the piano.
It was ironic, really.
Bianchi knew that Gokudera's mother sometimes disappeared for a few days, leaving Little Gokudera in her care. She did not know why, and she did not ask where.
But when Gokuera's mother did not come home for a week, she knew.
And Little Gokudera somehow knew too.
He locked himself in his room.
When he came out, he was a different person.
Bianchi wondered where the little brother she had just grown to love went.
Bianchi crossed her arms and leaned against the wall. She looked at the painting in front of her, but didn’t bother to see. Her eyes may have been far, but she strained her ears to be very sharp. Behind the wall, she could hear notes of Beethoven’s/Bach’s melancholic yet frustrated music. It was a few tempos faster than what was passable for her little brother’s music teacher, but Bianchi wasn’t Mrs. Pioggia.
She closed her eyes.
Beneath the notes, she could also hear her brother’s silent tears.
Sunlight filtered through the curtains, lighting the dust that covered the once shiny ebony of the grand piano.
She leaned against the door, except this time, she was inside rather than out.
The room felt melancholic. Nostalgic, Bianca thought, but that probably wasn’t the right word.
After all, it wasn’t her who spent every waking hour in this room, making music with his angel of a mother.
Today, however, there were no angels.
There was no more ‘Mother’.
There hasn’t been for a month now.
The music in Bianchi’s head had gone and disappeared from her memories due to time.
Bianchi missed it. It was a part of her. Her little brother’s music was a part of her.
The angel had gone.
And so did her little brother’s music.
fin