a 1,000 word drabble
So.
Feeling really down in general... a lot of little reasons, but I just feel empty, really
Also, I read this: "...a memory that everybody has; the feeling of the knowledge of knowing that the One person you care about, the One person you love most, is out of your reach." and wanted to die.
But I wrote fluffy (or trying to be fluffy) TsunaGokuish with a piano. It was supposed to be a drablle. But it's just touching over 1,000 words.
Title: Ivory and Black
Fandom: Reborn!
Summary: You nearly sink into the floor in embarrassment. Gokudera Hayato, the most beautiful piano player - The Pianist - knows that you are a mafia don. You can see it in his eyes.
“I wanted to request a song,” you hear yourself say.
And he smiles.
His pale hands shake a little - a noticeable trait in smokers, you think - pulling out the Romance for Advanced Theory book of sheet music. You can tell he’s particularly fond of it, not just because it’s the only one you’ve heard him play from these past weeks, but because the cover is faded and soft, and it looks as though one or two of the pieces is falling out. But still he sets it above the keys and begins to roll his wrists. You love watching this, you realize. It’s a guilty pleasure, watching Gokudera Hayato - you’ve discovered his name by chance - carefully sweep his wrists around in an elegant roll, twitch each finger in little spasms of precision, again and again until he finally locks his elbows into a firm but effortless angle and those fingers hover over the ivory and black keys as you hold your breath.
When Gokudera Hayato plays music, you think you feel your heart expanding and imploding in your ribcage. It’s like all the sounds in the world before were just sounds, and now they have collided together in a beautiful reality. Like hearing music for the first time.
His head is bowed over the grand, not stooping and hesitant, but relaxed, as though Gokudera is very focused on the ivory and black keys, pouring himself little by little into the chords swim float fly dance breathing out of the air around him. You start to wonder, blushing furiously into your pasta and wolfing everything down as fast as you can in a double effort to keep Reborn from snatching any or from figuring out why you insist on coming to this restaurant every week - how would he touch you? Those fingers must be very nimble, the palms of his hands soft, his arms strong, his gaze intense. What would that be like?
You come here every week, to this four star Italian place with the members of you family, and listen to them joke and argue, hoping that you never have to come and look up to see an empty seat. You’re just kids. Nineteen last month, but still. You watch Gokudera Hayato and wonder if life can be that simple again. That beautiful.
And one day, you come to dinner. Miraculously, you are early. Gokudera Hayato is pulling back the fingers of his left hand, his book of sheet music open in front of him. You’re a tenth generation mafia boss - not that you ever wanted to be - but you have never been brave, and you hesitate. Yamamoto arrives a moment later and pulls you, oblivious to your conflicting emotions, to your usual table.
***
“…Gokudera-kun?”
He looks up from flicking through a few loose sheets of music. A brief glance makes your head turn, all those black notes and lines swooping over and under. You’re amazed again at how he can be so skilled. And on a whole new level. You never knew how… technical it would be. He must be a very intelligent young man. Suddenly you feel fourteen again, no-good and clumsy and high-pitched.
“Sawada-san.”
And then you blink because somehow he knows your name. How? But then you glance over at your usual table - empty because you’ve fought time itself to be here early again - and see for the first time that it is the biggest and most central-placed. The owner knows Reborn well, so you must be valuable patrons. You nearly sink into the floor in embarrassment. Gokudera Hayato, the most beautiful piano player - The Pianist - knows that you are a mafia don. You can see it in his eyes.
“I wanted to request a song,” you hear yourself say.
And he smiles.
You like making people smile. You always have, even before you had a family and you knew what you were going to wake up to every morning. So when this young man smiles and even though he knows what you are you see that he isn’t afraid it feels so wonderful to make him smile even though you’re not sure what you said, exactly. You think this might be love. And then you get that thought out of your mind because… there’s Kyoko to consider.
“What would you like to hear?” he asks.
“… That… the one you played last week…” you start to say and realize how stupid this must sound because not only can you not tell Mozart from Bach from anything, but part of what you say implies that you have been listening way to closely. You notice that while he waits for you to remember the piece he’s rolling his wrists carefully and deliberately and you’re thinking of how strong they would be, pinning your own hands up over your head before - and you blush so hotly and think that yes, if it’s not love it’s certainly lust. But has Kyoko ever done anything to make your heart grow and the light within you light you up from the outside in? “It sounded like a storm,” you add feebly.
He begins the chords, soft and deep but not frightening in their booming steps, slow waltz up into minute crashes, and you take it as a mark of true love that he knows exactly what you’re talking about.
“Sit down,” he says during a pause.
Cautiously you take the seat beside him and begin a small inner conflict over weather or not you should sit close enough so that his elbow touches you when he hits that chord, but you’re fine either way because for someone with pale ivory skin and perfectly shaped hands like porcelain, he smells warm. He smells like grass after fireworks and yellowed sheets of music. You can’t help thinking that the two smells collide like ash and amber. It’s a weird thought. You put one hand on the top of the piano, and suddenly the music flows through you like hurricanes ripping at the sky, and you have to let go but you don’t because it makes your heart soar even higher.
The song fades, and Gokudera Hayato turns toward you, probably to tell you the actual title and how composed it, but his hands sliding off the ivory and black keys, settling down to rest a mere centimeter from yours makes you forget all else.
You kiss him.
You’ve only ever kissed Kyo - and the rest of it is blank because he kisses you back, strong arms holding you steady, elbows in perfect sloped angles like when he is a breath - making you hold your breath - away from the first note. And it makes you brave enough to take control so that his lips part. You’re not sure how you manage to pull it off.
“I see you’ve met your Storm Gaurdian,” says Reborn two minutes later when he emerges from somewhere - you strongly suspect underneath the piano bench - and your hand is over Gokudera’s on the ivory and black keys, your eyes locked. Whatever grace you’ve acquired in the past thirty seconds is gone, gone and you can only stare.
“…Here, Judaime…” he murmurs, smiling and looking away a little, eyes bright with devotion.
I feel so fucking shitty and crap now. I don't want to sleep but my eyes are failing me and I have to wake up early to play mom and get the girls to school. I think I'm going to skip my own classes. I've been shit at that this semster lately, but frankly I feel... empty. The other day before I left for work I went to my parent's room to tell them I was leaving and what time I might be back, but my mother didn't even look at me and it hit me really hard:
I'm not important to her anymore.
I mean, of course if something bad happened to me she'd care. But she doesn't need me to tell her where I'm going or what time I'll be back or if I finished my homework or if I have a headache. And then I realized that my dad, too, and pretty much everyone else. I'm kinda of on my own here. It feels effing horrible to not be special to anyone. I know it's a selfish thought, but it breaks my heart.
Feeling really down in general... a lot of little reasons, but I just feel empty, really
Also, I read this: "...a memory that everybody has; the feeling of the knowledge of knowing that the One person you care about, the One person you love most, is out of your reach." and wanted to die.
But I wrote fluffy (or trying to be fluffy) TsunaGokuish with a piano. It was supposed to be a drablle. But it's just touching over 1,000 words.
Title: Ivory and Black
Fandom: Reborn!
Summary: You nearly sink into the floor in embarrassment. Gokudera Hayato, the most beautiful piano player - The Pianist - knows that you are a mafia don. You can see it in his eyes.
“I wanted to request a song,” you hear yourself say.
And he smiles.
His pale hands shake a little - a noticeable trait in smokers, you think - pulling out the Romance for Advanced Theory book of sheet music. You can tell he’s particularly fond of it, not just because it’s the only one you’ve heard him play from these past weeks, but because the cover is faded and soft, and it looks as though one or two of the pieces is falling out. But still he sets it above the keys and begins to roll his wrists. You love watching this, you realize. It’s a guilty pleasure, watching Gokudera Hayato - you’ve discovered his name by chance - carefully sweep his wrists around in an elegant roll, twitch each finger in little spasms of precision, again and again until he finally locks his elbows into a firm but effortless angle and those fingers hover over the ivory and black keys as you hold your breath.
When Gokudera Hayato plays music, you think you feel your heart expanding and imploding in your ribcage. It’s like all the sounds in the world before were just sounds, and now they have collided together in a beautiful reality. Like hearing music for the first time.
His head is bowed over the grand, not stooping and hesitant, but relaxed, as though Gokudera is very focused on the ivory and black keys, pouring himself little by little into the chords swim float fly dance breathing out of the air around him. You start to wonder, blushing furiously into your pasta and wolfing everything down as fast as you can in a double effort to keep Reborn from snatching any or from figuring out why you insist on coming to this restaurant every week - how would he touch you? Those fingers must be very nimble, the palms of his hands soft, his arms strong, his gaze intense. What would that be like?
You come here every week, to this four star Italian place with the members of you family, and listen to them joke and argue, hoping that you never have to come and look up to see an empty seat. You’re just kids. Nineteen last month, but still. You watch Gokudera Hayato and wonder if life can be that simple again. That beautiful.
And one day, you come to dinner. Miraculously, you are early. Gokudera Hayato is pulling back the fingers of his left hand, his book of sheet music open in front of him. You’re a tenth generation mafia boss - not that you ever wanted to be - but you have never been brave, and you hesitate. Yamamoto arrives a moment later and pulls you, oblivious to your conflicting emotions, to your usual table.
***
“…Gokudera-kun?”
He looks up from flicking through a few loose sheets of music. A brief glance makes your head turn, all those black notes and lines swooping over and under. You’re amazed again at how he can be so skilled. And on a whole new level. You never knew how… technical it would be. He must be a very intelligent young man. Suddenly you feel fourteen again, no-good and clumsy and high-pitched.
“Sawada-san.”
And then you blink because somehow he knows your name. How? But then you glance over at your usual table - empty because you’ve fought time itself to be here early again - and see for the first time that it is the biggest and most central-placed. The owner knows Reborn well, so you must be valuable patrons. You nearly sink into the floor in embarrassment. Gokudera Hayato, the most beautiful piano player - The Pianist - knows that you are a mafia don. You can see it in his eyes.
“I wanted to request a song,” you hear yourself say.
And he smiles.
You like making people smile. You always have, even before you had a family and you knew what you were going to wake up to every morning. So when this young man smiles and even though he knows what you are you see that he isn’t afraid it feels so wonderful to make him smile even though you’re not sure what you said, exactly. You think this might be love. And then you get that thought out of your mind because… there’s Kyoko to consider.
“What would you like to hear?” he asks.
“… That… the one you played last week…” you start to say and realize how stupid this must sound because not only can you not tell Mozart from Bach from anything, but part of what you say implies that you have been listening way to closely. You notice that while he waits for you to remember the piece he’s rolling his wrists carefully and deliberately and you’re thinking of how strong they would be, pinning your own hands up over your head before - and you blush so hotly and think that yes, if it’s not love it’s certainly lust. But has Kyoko ever done anything to make your heart grow and the light within you light you up from the outside in? “It sounded like a storm,” you add feebly.
He begins the chords, soft and deep but not frightening in their booming steps, slow waltz up into minute crashes, and you take it as a mark of true love that he knows exactly what you’re talking about.
“Sit down,” he says during a pause.
Cautiously you take the seat beside him and begin a small inner conflict over weather or not you should sit close enough so that his elbow touches you when he hits that chord, but you’re fine either way because for someone with pale ivory skin and perfectly shaped hands like porcelain, he smells warm. He smells like grass after fireworks and yellowed sheets of music. You can’t help thinking that the two smells collide like ash and amber. It’s a weird thought. You put one hand on the top of the piano, and suddenly the music flows through you like hurricanes ripping at the sky, and you have to let go but you don’t because it makes your heart soar even higher.
The song fades, and Gokudera Hayato turns toward you, probably to tell you the actual title and how composed it, but his hands sliding off the ivory and black keys, settling down to rest a mere centimeter from yours makes you forget all else.
You kiss him.
You’ve only ever kissed Kyo - and the rest of it is blank because he kisses you back, strong arms holding you steady, elbows in perfect sloped angles like when he is a breath - making you hold your breath - away from the first note. And it makes you brave enough to take control so that his lips part. You’re not sure how you manage to pull it off.
“I see you’ve met your Storm Gaurdian,” says Reborn two minutes later when he emerges from somewhere - you strongly suspect underneath the piano bench - and your hand is over Gokudera’s on the ivory and black keys, your eyes locked. Whatever grace you’ve acquired in the past thirty seconds is gone, gone and you can only stare.
“…Here, Judaime…” he murmurs, smiling and looking away a little, eyes bright with devotion.
I feel so fucking shitty and crap now. I don't want to sleep but my eyes are failing me and I have to wake up early to play mom and get the girls to school. I think I'm going to skip my own classes. I've been shit at that this semster lately, but frankly I feel... empty. The other day before I left for work I went to my parent's room to tell them I was leaving and what time I might be back, but my mother didn't even look at me and it hit me really hard:
I'm not important to her anymore.
I mean, of course if something bad happened to me she'd care. But she doesn't need me to tell her where I'm going or what time I'll be back or if I finished my homework or if I have a headache. And then I realized that my dad, too, and pretty much everyone else. I'm kinda of on my own here. It feels effing horrible to not be special to anyone. I know it's a selfish thought, but it breaks my heart.