"And so I devote what my own music is instead."

Tsuchiura listened attentively and straight-forwardly, trying to understand what Tsukimori was saying.

"And how can you say that striving for perfection is not a form of love itself ..."

He couldn't hold in his surprise at the thought, and also at the small revelation. Turning his head away and anxiously putting his hands in his pockets, he responded, "Perhaps I had just kept misunderstanding you. So you're saying that, instead of striving for perfection for the sake of perfection, you're looking to prove something...?" He sounded the words out softly, almost as if talking to himself.

Almost chuckling out loud, he began to truly understand that this was Tsukimori's way of showing... well, something towards music and violin. Whether Tsukimori called it 'heart', 'love', or in his case, 'perfection' (or otherwise) didn't matter as much then...?

He suddenly recalled his own past with piano, and hiding it away after being slighted not due to talent, but age. Even then, Tsuchiura knew that he still loved the piano, loved making music, and it was a part of his soul that he couldn't keep hidden forever. The way he treated his music was a direct mirror of how he handled his emotions, and only recently did it also represent his greatest love, with everything that music brought, returned all bundled together with Hino.

Lost in his own thoughts, his focus was removed and his mind distant as he set into a brooding sort of mood. While talking to himself, he was only half aware that he voiced the following out loud, "...what is love, and how one expresses it, are they the same thing?"

"...what is love, and how one expresses it, are they the same thing?"

Tsukimori cocked his head to the side in inquiry, and then immediately tried to mask his curiosity. He decided to ignore that sentiment, because it wasn't meant for him, anyway. He could tell Tsuchiura's mind was wandering off somewhere he didn't care to know. Still, Tsukimori wished he wouldn't be this rude while they're still having a conversation---even if their conversation didn't seem like one at all. It also felt strange how honest they seem to be about their opinions. Tsuchiura used to take offense with whatever Tsukimori says, and so Tsukimori was expecting for some violent reaction later on. But surprisingly enough, the other man remained civilized for at least ten minutes now. Tsukimori wondered if he was doing things differently too. All he was sure is that speaking up what he held back inside for so long was---refreshing.

He was supposed to ignore the sentiment but he just couldn't help but respond. "'You get what you receive', is what my grandfather always says, Tsuchiura."

Shaken out of his reverie, Tsuchiura took a breath to reflexively to make a retort, when he took a second longer to realize what Tsukimori had said.

"Well," he started slowly, "I can't disagree with that statement."

Internally he was still rolling around the idea of validation and redemption, and if that had any place in connection with love in music.

Not sure what else to say, Tsuchiura posed to leave. "Anyway," he said conclusively, "I think I've learned something today." Straightening his stance before turning to depart.

Tsukimori didn't know what to make of Tsuchiura's behavior. It's the first time he saw him in such a mood and it was amusing to see, at the very least.

When he saw Tsuchiura was getting ready to leave, Tsukimori had the sudden impulse to stop him and he didn't know why. "Tsuchiura," he began. He couldn't think of anything else to say so he dumbly inquired. "What do you mean that you've learned something today?"

"Hm?" Turned halfway, he looked back over to Tsukimori with a quizzical look. Tsuchiura was a bit unnerved that the violinist was rather... talkative today.

Quirking his eyebrow, he replied, "what I meant was, today, I learned some interesting things about you, for better or for worse...." He coughed to try and shake the awkward atmosphere he felt creeping up on him.

Smirking before turning around again, he looked Tsukimori in the eye with a layer of amusement reflected in them. "It's interesting for a change that you're sticking around this long. Surely by now you would have told me you have some practicing to do, or that you don't have time for petty conversations..."

Tsukimori raised an eyebrow, crossing his arms again. "I supposed I could resort to that but I really didn't have anything to do this afternoon."

He slightly wondered if he does tend to brush off people by saying he has to practice and that he didn't have time to have petty conversations. And then stopped himself when it almost seems to him as if he cared about Tsuchiura pointing that out.

"You don't have to put it that way, you know." Tsukimori looked off. "This conversation wasn't petty, if I may say so."

"This conversation wasn't petty, if I may say so."

The pianist could only muster a 'hmph' of acknowledgement, with Tsukmori's interesting response. However, Tsuchiura was trying not to laugh out loud at the thought of the former 'elite-sama' having a free afternoon. Instead he chuckled and asked, "so what kinds of things do you do in your free time? Once upon a time, I don't think I'm mistaken to say that almost every waking moment was dedicated to practicing."

He mulled over the interesting changes he saw in Tsukimori, or perhaps they were just things he never noticed when they first met.

"Once upon a time, I don't think I'm mistaken to say that almost every waking moment was dedicated to practicing."

Tsukimori took a seat from a nearby bench. He was able to stand for hours when practicing the violin, but he found that it's strange that having conversations like this is much more draining. It takes a lot of effort to say something back to what another person has said. He doesn't even talk this long with his parents, not since he hit puberty.

"When I went overseas, I had a teacher there who advised me to take breaks because practising for hours could cause some strain in the blood circulation in one's fingers. I can usually practice seven hours straight. Sometimes food and sleep are just activities squashed between violin practices."

Tsukimori blinked, surprising himself for relating that to someone he barely knew. He looked across at Tsuchiura, wondering if it surprised him too.

Though he was tall and used to looking down at people, he had to take a seat as well to help fix the strained physical distance. Sitting on the other side of the bench, he rested his elbows on his knees as he quietly took in the other man's story.

Taking Tsukimori's reflection in stride, Tsuchiura nodded without thinking twice, as if he was simply having a normal conversation. "Well, breaks are good sometimes..."

Looking over at Tsukimori who was strangely looking back at him, Tsuchiura noticed his peculiar expression as if he had done something unexpected, almost like telling a secret. Suddenly uncomfortable, he muffled out "w-what are you looking at me like that for?" He couldn't quite understand what was wrong, except that Tsukimori was being 'A hell of a lot more social than normal,' thought the pianist.

He attempted to shrug the moment off, and returned his vision across the way, blankly looking at the paved sidewalk. "Breaks can give you time and space to work things out, but it doesn't mean you quit learning; it doesn't mean you stop living music," he mused aloud. "Though," he continued, "I suppose there's such a thing as taking too long of a break..." he glanced back over at Tsukimori before finishing his statement, "...just as one can work too hard."

>"I suppose there's such a thing as taking too long of a break just as one can work too hard."

Tsukimori was glad that Tsuchiura didn't seem to pick up on the fact that this was the first real conversation he had with someone of his age; that he also didn't pick up on the loneliness that had once taken over Tsukimori whenever he lets his guard down and he only lets his guard down when he's exhausted and he's definitely tired right now. Weird. Taking breaks makes him feel tired. He wondered about saying that out loud, but he doesn't understand why Tsuchiura has to know; and he is also bothered that he even wants to tell Tsuchiura how he feels in the first place.

So, to be safe, Tsukimori simply asked. "Are you implying that I'm taking too long with my break time right now? That it's better if I go back to practice now?"

"Are you implying that I'm taking too long with my break time right now?"

This time Tsuchiura did laugh out loud at Tsukimori's display of insecurity; not that it was a sign of weakness, but that he mistook Tsuchiura's own fault for his own. "No, no, it's not that," he said as waved his hand dismissively. "Some of us took a long break from playing out in the open, and I can't say that hiding for that long was the best thing to do."

Perhaps now he realized why Tsukimori gave him a deer-in-the-headlights look earlier, as his own eyes widened wondering why he in turn was admitting such things to his fellow musician.

Unsettled, he leaned back, turning away from Tsukimori, scratching the back of his head in his usual habit. "Maybe more than you going back to practice, I should be heading back to work out some notes..."

Tsukimori tried not to gasp when the other man erupted in laughter. It was fascinating, in a sense. He had a feeling that he should scold him for such a robust display, that he should be offended. But Tsukimori just sat there and listened to Tsuchiura ramble again about this and that. He never realized that Tsuchiura is actually this talkative. But then again, he's an athlete. When he was a little boy, Tsukimori would stay behind class to practice his violin and when he would look over the window, he would see other boys his age playing soccer. They looked so rough and noisy, always laughing and spending time with their fellow teammates. He found kicking a ball around from one person to another stupid, but he distinctly remembered the look of satisfaction in their faces while doing it.

He wondered if being in the company of others could actually make you radiate some sort of---

"I should be heading back to work out some notes..."

Tsukimori blinked several times and muttered almost quietly. "Oh, you're leaving?"

"Oh, you're leaving?"

The question came out of the blue, and Tsuchiura felt he had only suggested he go home, out of his own discomfort. Now feeling as if Tsukimori might want him to leave, he became slightly annoyed.

"I suppose I should," the pianist grumbled admittedly, and the anger started to dissipate. Standing up, he looked over at Tsukimori with a inquisitive look. "And you?" he asked out of pure curiosity, "now that you have your time free again, what are you going to do?"

He supposed he should leave? Somehow, Tsukimori detected some unpleasant feeling in that comment that he didn't want to dwell on.

Tsukimori watched him stand up. He would've gotten up too, but he somehow felt tired to manage such a simple task. Still, he realized how pathetic he looks like, giving into sulking again, so he forced himself up immediately.

However, it seemed like he had overdone it. His knees seem to have failed him, and he ended up swaying to a corner, his hands instintively trying to grab at something and landed on the first thing he could grasp on. He tried to pull his feet up before he completely slides down.

Tsukimori looked up and realized he had both his hands gripping Tsuchiura by the shoulders in a feeble attempt to straighten himself up.