tw's: very, very, angsty. and the use of one. single. curse. word. one time.
a/n: idk what's going on with the pic but um :D ..yeah hope you like it! please forgive me if my english sucks. and feedback always appreciated! :)
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You climb onto the stage, holding your violin in one hand. You look at the audience in front of you and take a deep breath. The lights above the audience slowly dim and eventually fade off; the ones above you grow harsher and harsher until the only thing the audience can see is you on the stage, and the only thing you can properly see is the violin in your hand. Yet your eyes subconsciously scan the crowd, hoping to see someone. Hoping to see him.
Today's fight was about how he hadnât ironed your suit and how he hadn't brought you a bow tie of the right color. It was an important concert for you, and everything had to be perfect. You had assigned that task to him, trusting him to do it properly and he had fucked it up. If the other performers observed these imperfections, if the audience would notice.. You despised the very idea of being anything but perfect in front of others, especially when you're doing your job.
He simply didn't understand. He didn't get what the big deal was. What started small blew up. After a while he got mad. You later had to leave mid-argument to get there early for your pre-concert rehearsal. It was all still heavy in your heart, and you were scared. Scared that you'd lose the joy and comfort you found in each other. Scared that you'd lose each other. Scared that he wouldn't show up to one of the most important moments of your life.
You had a fight this afternoon. A trivial fight, but it meant more. You had been fighting frequently over the last few weeks. From you forgetting to turn off the oven, to him feeling terrified and hurt that you'd move to London, leaving him, your fights had lasted for a long time, and had thrashed around in both your hearts, until one of you eventually broke down and ended up in the other's arms crying, hugging for comfort and love.
Then came the conductor, followed by a loud applause; he stood there waiting for the audience to quiet down until the whole hall was filled with a deep, echoing silence; a silence so profound and consuming, radiating with anticipation, expectation, and eagerness. The calm before the storm. And the conductor looked at you.
You brought the bow of your violin to the strings; a perfect, melancholic wail emerged from it, emanating and echoing through the whole concert hall. You moved your bow up and down the violin, and slowly the world disappeared; it was drowning you along with it. You were playing the most beautiful music you had ever heard in your life; something so sacred, so ethereal, so goddamn beautiful. You let go of what your brain told you and followed your heart, your hands moving the bow skillfully on the violin as you weaved the music you knew so intimately. You could hear what you were going to play before you even played it. You were so well accustomed with it; it was a part of you. Sibelius' Violin Concerto; that's what got you into classical music. That's where it all started. And that's how you met him.
Monday afternoon; the university's practice room. It was raining heavily outside. Raindrops struck the window glass and painfully slid down as you were practicing a piece by Paganini. Of course, you played it wrong every few seconds. Sometimes the tempo wasn't right. Other times the coordination between the left and the right hand was lacking. Most of the time it was both, plus a hundred other discrepencies including going out of tune, completely missing some notes, and messing up the vibrato. Eventually you started questioning your playing skills, your academic decisions and your whole life and you broke down crying.
Suga came in, opened the door and was surprised to find someone so fragile, pathetically broken, sitting on the floor, crying, hands wrapped around your violin. "Hey," he said. "Um," It was obvious he didn't know what to say. He sighed. "Look. Wait. Why are you crying?"
You glanced at your violin, the stand on which your sheets, used and shabby, stood awkwardly in the otherwise empty room. He stared at it all for a long time. His eyes twinkled. "You know," he said, almost whispering, " it's wonderful that you can express something so beautiful through something so.. different like that," he said, a small smile creeping on his face. And you sat there, slowly growing calmer and quieter. And you sat there together, sitting amidst the quiet patter of the rain on the window; distant, faded sounds of violins going on in the other rooms.
And you're back here again, playing your heart out into the open, playing the third movement. It is filled with activity and life, but you play it unconsciously, almost playing exclusively off your muscle memory. But you mean every second of music that comes out of your violin, as your eyes are stuck shut, as you remember his face, bathed in the warm, bright light of the afternoon, his lips stretched in a knowing smile as he looked at you..
The concerto is finally over, as you end it in the same way you began. Then follows the thunderous applause, as sounds of people clapping fills the room. They stand up clumsily, cheering and coughing. The light above the audience shines again, towards, and you can see almost all of them standing up; some of them with tears in their eyes, others with relief in their eyes as they can finally escape and fall on their beds. But one of them isn't.
That man is sitting in the front row. He sits, slumped. His lips are left slightly open; his eyes are wide, tears threatening to spill out of them as he stares at the orchestra. Then he blinks and a tear begins flowing out. He continues watching the podium, stumped, in absolute wonder and amazement. Another tear flows out as his lips gently tremble and his eyes relax. They were fixed on you this whole time. And they were filled with love.
Suga smiles at you, amidst the tears, amidst his amazement and appreciation. He's overwhelmed by you. By the fact that you could play something so beautifully. He fell in love with you all over again. And you just stand there, basking in his warmth, just elated at the fact that he's here. That he showed up, after all. To see you.
And after a short celebration and meeting up with some of the audience, you step out of the back door. Suga is there, waiting for you. Quiet, leaning patiently against the wall. Watching the sunset. Smiling. He then notices you.
He tilts his head and looks at you. "Hey," he says, gently.
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tysm for reading this! i didn't even bother editing this again, hope it doesn't seem to off :) but yesh i really enjoyed writing it i guess. classical music. anyways. feedback and comments always appreciated (i like compliments btw) <3 have a good day!
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