Chapter Text
Misterioso—play with a secretive or mysterious character.
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The piano is alive. Once you begin to play, it will immediately surround and ensnare your fingers. But, there’s nothing to fear. Don’t resist the flowing notes. Thrust your fingers into the keys and carve a melody. Then you slide your hands up and down the instrument, following that melody. Moving your arms, your head, your chest...
To Haruka, the piano was the most beautiful creation in the world. He could go for days living on just the feeling of the supple keys that acquiesced under his fingers, shy and inviting. The pleasing melodies that the instrument created, the flowing notes, both crisp and blending, and the unique timbre that flowed deep into his soul—Haruka couldn’t imagine ever living without it all. He lived in the careful notes carved into time from composers long ago, existing in sync with the euphonious music that resonated deep in his mind throughout morning, noon, and night.
When Haruka played, he felt the binds of reality loosen, setting him free into the pleasing chasm of content where he stayed, unhindered, until his songs ended. He could easily block out the spotlights and vast audiences by focusing on the movement of his fingers as they formed a trail away from the real world. Whether he was in a concert hall, a bright, raised stage, or the cold confines of his own almost-empty living room, Haru was content as long as he had a piano. Coaxing the notes from the instrument and freeing them into the static air—reverberating them until the atmosphere turned into a cacophony of dynamic breezes—never failed to raise his spirits whenever the dank darkness threatened to creep into his countenance.
These thoughts drifted around in Haruka’s mind as he walked up the steps to the biggest stage he’d ever performed on. He maintained the stoic composure he always assumed whenever he was away from his beloved piano, ignoring the roaring applause of the audience filling (and spilling from) the chamber. Haruka’s heartbeat remained a practiced, steady beat, completely unaffected by the pressure of the event and the expectations. He’d been through it before, and what did it really matter? The piano would never betray him, and certainly not in the moments of greatest need. The man’s light feet carried him to the piano, aided by the instrument’s magnetic pull.
Composed, Haruka sat down silently on the glossy piano bench, feeling the plush, luxurious cushion sink just an inch or two to accommodate his weight. He took in a deep breath, closing his eyes with a sigh as the smell of the carefully polished piano wood wafted into his nose. Haruka pushed down the non-existent wrinkles in his coat as the audience quieted to a silent nothingness just waiting to be filled with music. Eyes still closed, Haruka placed his fingers on the starting keys and bowed his head just so.
Then with a sudden breath, Haruka began. His fingers slammed down, forte, on the simple beginning notes, unconscious of how the entire audience jumped. Just as suddenly, he rolled the broken arpeggios that quieted down to a light piano and slowly sneaked in the melody's beautiful introduction.
The never-ending flow of notes jumped up and down the keys, weaving an intricate dance of twists and turns and frequent rubatos that laid the foundation for a unique rhythm bouncing throughout Haruka's entire body as he moved in tandem with the song's dance. Sharp accents highlighted the melody and changed their placement along with the shifting dynamics. The contrasting rhythms in the hands—triplets in the left, sixteenths in the right—played their own tunes in harmony with one another, combining their differences and working to craft a masterpiece that led into another section, and another, and another. Haruka’s fingers flew across the keyboard like the sea creatures that weaved throughout the oceans, loud and strong, soft and sad.
Without much warning the litany of notes came to a sudden pause and Haruka sucked in a gasp of breath. Then the notes fell, quickly down the keys, the left hand abandoning the right in its descent. And just as suddenly, they joined again, at the bottom of the deep fall, and rose to the highest part of the keyboard, this time to fall together, in tandem, with swift leaps that quickly outdistanced the small descent of the single right hand. The notes shouted a deep, desperate tune that gradually slowed and slowed…
Haruka played and the captivated audience played with him, entranced by the raw emotion displayed by the normally oh-so-stoic public front the quiet man always put up. Some slept, some thumb-twiddled, and some busied away on their electronic devices—an audience could never completely be engaged, after all—but the majority sat and beheld their famous performer. Some would later swear that they heard a slight creaking of the piano legs and a small, bubbling chuckle arising from the expensive instrument, as if it had come to life in that moment to share the performer’s joy.
Only those in the front rows could observe the true, relaxed content displayed on the soft, handsome features of Haruka Nanase—only few could watch the way his eyebrows, nested above his lightly shut eyelids, curved up and slanted down in peace near the edges. Even in the darkest, most dramatic parts of the varying melody, the eyebrows stayed, no matter how the rest of his countenance morphed in tandem with the music.
An eternity that felt far too short soon came to a close with the final pianississimo chords delivered with such an air that a feeling of peace, hope, and closure swept over all of those present in the auditorium. The audience dared not to breathe as the ethereal figure of their performer slowly rose his head. Only when those elegant fingers finally withdrew reluctantly from the piano keys did a thundering wave of awed applause erupt. Haruka rose from his seat and stepped towards the audience, giving a swift, absentminded bow. He stepped off the stage, the clacking of his dress shoes unheard over the still-roaring applause of the audience. The pianist cast a final glance back towards the snow-white piano he'd played on—it was a true beauty—and disappeared from the crowd’s view.
øØøØøØøØøØø
A few hours after the performance, Haruka stepped onto the winter streets of Iwatobi just outside of the building, exiting cautiously from the back door to avoid any eager newspaper reporters. He’d been harassed enough already—Nagisa Hazuki, the head manager of the performance hall, had kept Haruka back for a while to pelt a barrage of praises and excited questions at the introverted performer. He’d been invited to come back and play again at another event in the coming month. Haruka had replied with a somewhat agreeable maybe instead of his usual indecisive shrug (which his manager, Gou, had been quite surprised about), since the beautiful Steinway concert grand piano he’d played on at the hall had been a true work of art.
While Haruka contemplated the mechanics of fitting a concert grand piano in his apartment’s living room, he turned a corner into a dingy-looking alley, vaguely remembering a shortcut Gou told him about (before rushing off to collect Haruka’s performance paycheck and set up another event). The looming sides of the snowy alleyway buildings blocked the bright, full moon’s light, a fact which the indifferent pianist easily ignored as he contemplated the renovations necessary to add in that ivory Steinway.
Due to Haruka’s occupied thoughts, he almost didn’t spot the large figure huddled near an alleyway intersection. The only reason he did notice was the small whimper that came from the shaking form, too high-pitched to be mistaken for a passing wind. Pausing his stride, he turned his gaze to the source of the noise, sharp eyes using the limited moonlight to observe a young (albeit largely built) man, shivering and sans coat, leaned against a wall in the only spot without a snowdrift. What Haruka could observe, using the light peeking through the building rooftops, was a ragged individual donning tattered, undersized clothes.
The careful pianist made to turn and continue on his way, planning to leave the trembling figure behind, but his discreet footsteps seemed to have alerted the man of his presence. Haruka started as the coatless man’s head rose, and he froze completely when a startling emerald, teary-eyed gaze locked with his own. Even with his keen vision, Haruka couldn’t quite discern the exact features of the man’s face, but he could see the cold, flushed cheeks framed by a headful of scraggy olive-brown hair.
Those green eyes widened when they observed Haruka’s presence, and the man rose quickly. Alarmed, Haruka began to flee, but the green-eyed man had already beat him to it. Haruka heard the sound of quickly fading footsteps and turned to see that the man had completely disappeared. Then the moonlight caught the movement of some papers fluttering to the ground, appearing to have been left behind by the retreating figure.
Pushed forward by a sense of intrigue he couldn’t quite explain, Haruka bent down to pick up the paper, eyes widening slightly as he saw the five-lined bars and scattered musical notes scratched on the sheets in what appeared to be a pen running out of ink. It was surely an odd thing for the coatless man to have possessed. But the composition seemed to be written for piano—the treble and bass clefs were very clearly drawn in—and Haruka was curious. He looked down at the ground and found a few more scattered music sheets, some dispersed amongst the surrounding snowdrifts. Haruka carefully collected the papers, shaking off the snow that clung to some, a little bemused by his actions.
Shortly after, the pianist continued to head home, encountering no other stray people lurking in the alleyways, which, he supposed, was fortunate. Haruka wondered what Gou had been thinking, advising her “prized pianist” to take an alleyway shortcut. He also pondered over how she knew of the shortcut in the first place. Gou’s police officer brother, Rin, would definitely not be pleased to know that his little sister had been wandering around the dark and dangerous alleyways. Maybe Haruka would mention it in passing when he next saw his manager’s overprotective brother. He filed the thought away.
Glancing down at the papers clutched in his gloved hands, Haruka continued walking and let his mind wander to the curious subject of the odd encounter. The man hadn’t seemed like the kind who’d be out in the streets—though Haruka didn’t get a good look at him, his green eyes held a gentle (albeit tearful) gaze and he seemed timidly cultured, despite his rather pitiful state.
When Haruka finally returned to his apartment, his thoughts contained no trace of the beautiful Steinway piano.
øØøØøØøØøØø
The next morning was considerably warmer than the evening before, and Haruka awoke to the sound of melted snow flowing down through the gutters and dripping to the ground. The pianist groggily made his way to the kitchen to cook himself his usual breakfast of mackerel, as it was warm enough to forego his winter mornings’ hot bath. Not in the mood for human interaction, Haruka casually ignored the multitude of messages still lighting up the screen of his smartphone (which had been forced on him by Gou, just like his laptop, along with an unreasonably large number of social networking accounts).
After washing up with some warm water, the pianist headed towards the simple upright Yamaha piano nestled next to his living room’s fireplace and armchair. Haruka slowly opened the lid, breathing in the barely observable scent of aged wood. He glanced affectionately at the well-worn keys and settled down on the creaking bench, taking a deep breath and beginning with the simple tune of “Für Elise” as a calming warm-up. The melody resonated gracefully and filled the living room like it had so many times before. Haruka smiled softly and let his fingers dance, tracing through the song’s path with content confidence. The song passed quickly, like it always had, and Haruka ended the final, flowing notes as a sigh escaped from his upturned lips.
Fingers warmed, Haruka wondered what he should play today. His pieces for next weekend’s performances were well-reviewed and committed to heart already. The pianist didn’t like to repeat (most of) the songs he played too often—there were so many beautiful songs still waiting to be discovered.
While pondering, Haruka was abruptly hit with the memory of the music he’d found last night, left behind from the hasty departure of the green-eyed man. He glanced beneath the piano bench and found the papers stashed there neatly where he’d put them. Haruka was suddenly struck with a sense of guilt as he wondered what the coatless man would think when he’d discovered his missing papers… He’d seemed to have lost much already…
Subdued, Haruka observed the pilfered music sheets. They held intriguing notes arranged in unique ways that weren’t quite classical but also not modernly dissonant. He already had the sheets, Haruka mused, so it would be waste not to try playing the music. Setting the first few pages on his piano’s wiggly music stand, Haruka squinted at the precise but quickly marked notes on the somewhat uneven staffs and started his attempts to play.
The introduction flowed easily together, the left and right hands complementing each other far more beautifully than Haruka had expected. The rhythms were unique, and many triplets were added in, alternating in hands, notes, and harmonies. Many times, the professional pianist had to stop and carefully discern the multitude of difficult rhythms. Dynamic markings were hard to find, since they were squeezed in between the tightly compacted staffs—the composer seemed to be conserving as much paper as possible.
The beginning of the song passed through in this startling beautiful manner, reminiscent of a playful, rustling breeze, and throughout the entire section, Haruka was haunted by the singular memory of vivid viridian. He played, beginning to feel the flow, the rhythm, quicker than any other song he’d played before. And as he played, somehow, Haruka knew: that green-eyed man was the composer. There was no doubt.
Invigorated, the pianist continued to the next section, minor-keyed melodies singing their unique, soft tune. If the first section resembled a breeze, this section was the gentle snowfall on New Year’s Eve. Scatterings of crossed-out notes and unclear markings barely hindered Haruka—the notes flowed naturally, and he wondered incredulously how the song just seemed to be made for him. The notes held certain romantic nostalgia, dug up buried memories of lovely childhood before the world had taken it away. This music—this lovely composition—crawled close to his chest, warming his center with the minor harmonies that faded away to a pianissimo, the diminuendo interspersed with casual rubatos.
The more Haruka played, the more strongly he felt awed disbelief. What was such a talented composer doing out on the streets on that cold winter night? The emotional melodies weaved into the composition could rival that of some of the most famous classical piano pieces, and the daringly modern additions only added to the song’s character. The stab of guilt Haruka felt grew even stronger, now that he knew just exactly how much this composition must have meant to that teary-eyed, coatless man. Even as he continued to play, captivated by the unique arrangement, Haruka promised himself to try and find the composer again.
Haruka played for an immeasurable amount of time, working his way slowly through the piece, trying his best to play it in the way that the music wanted to be conveyed. But then, as he finished up the second section, Haruka turned the page and—
—There were no pages left. A crashing wave of disappointment washed over the pianist as he slumped visibly in his seat. He knew he’d picked up all the pages in the area, so the green-eyed man must have been able to hold on to the rest. The urge to meet this composer grew even stronger. Haruka had never been so enraptured by a single piano song—especially not one messily scribbled on pen-made music staffs—but he was truly captured by it. Somehow the notes made his piano sound more rich than before, made the resonance flow around the room; it reached every dank corner, exposing everything and leaving nothing untouched.
Haruka had no idea how he would find that green-eyed man again. He would visit the alleyway again, of course, but there was no guarantee that he would be there—especially not after the fright Haruka’s appearance seemed to have caused him. The pianist could try and trace his tracks, as it had been a snowy alleyway—no, that wouldn’t work. Haruka glanced out his window at the warm, melted day with forlorn vexation. He didn’t even know the man’s name, and he could only give a barren description of his appearance.
Beginning to lose hope, Haruka turned back to the venerated music sheets, planning to play it some more and soothe his disappointment. But then, when he held the first page in his hands, Haruka saw, scribbled messily on the back, a single word.
Makoto.