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“... Hayasaka.”
Of all the places he could’ve wandered off to… well, Kurumada wasn’t anticipating here. Though, he must admit, all the clatter and sounds of life from mere seconds ago had fallen away. Even the slight creak from leaning in the doorway was louder now, though not quite as bright as the individual plink! of one key after another. And yet, in giving, there was a sort of muffled peace to it, where there was only them and the piano at which so-called Suit-n-Specs sat.
…
Hayasaka plays piano?
How did I… not know?
Maybe I could—
With a blink, he pushed the thought out of his mind.
And as the moments passed, each movement burning into his eyes, the weight on Kurumada’s chest only became stronger. A weight pushing unsteady words to the surface—words that, he was sure, meant something else entirely.
“Reko asked ‘bout you, you know.”
He shook his head—no response, still. And as he looked him up and down, well, he began to understand. Sharp breaths punctuated each note, which flowed as shakily as his fragile fingers on the keyboard. It was a raw melody, if it could even be called one, and yet he just couldn’t turn away from it.
“You okay?”
And Hayasaka slowed to a stop, chest heaving as though he’d seen something behind those eyelids he kept so tightly shut.
“... Hayasaka, if you were overwhelmed by all that, you coulda just tol-“
“I used to play the piano.”
Those words caught in Kurumada’s lungs, tightening the space in between them.
“... and I-I’ve already said you can call me Shunsuke. Really, it’s—it’s alright.”
Shunsuke’s words wavered in a way his body didn’t. In fact, he was still as water, in a near freeze-frame from the final note.
Except for his breathing. When fighting, you always have to watch your breathing. Kurumada—well, no, Naomichi as he may well be called—may not have known much, but at least he knew that. And yet with Shunsuke, it was as though he was staggering; rising, falling, and rising again, only for a moment of quiet before it began again.
“Well, um. Uh, Shunsuke.”
The name was foreign in his mouth. The great Naomichi Kurumada, professional boxer, stumbling on his words? Unthinkable. Even Shunsuke noticed, it seemed, given his little usual nervous laugh.
Well… good. He’s calmed down a little.
What he wanted to say was “What’s wrong? What can I do?”
But what he ended up saying instead was more along the lines of “Honestly, I had no idea.”
Shunsuke blinked. “No idea that I played…? Well, it’s sure been a long time.” As if to prove it, he tapped the keyboard a few times. The keys looked heavy to Naomichi—the piano probably wasn’t cheap.
“Yeah. Wish I did before, y’know, so I could play for you. Or with you.” He sighed as though it was the easiest thing in the world, to say such a thing, even though he knew it was far from it. “But you gotta calm down right now. I won’t force ya, or anything.”
“Oh, I’m r-really not that good, haha, but…” Shunsuke looked down, and Naomichi braced himself for whatever might come next.
“You don’t… look—you don’t look like the type to play piano. I’m sure people say that…”
Oh, this again. Even here, even now, Naomichi couldn't stifle his dissatisfied grumble. “You know, I—“
“Wait!”
The sudden cry stopped him dead.
“I was just gonna say, who cares what this supposed type is? I don’t do anything like that, s-so it’s cool that you have a talent…”
“Oh, would you quit it.” Naomichi bit back a remark or two as the words he said reverberated in his head. Like pressing nails to the roof of his mouth. That’s Shunsuke, damn it, he thought. Guy doesn’t deserve it.
“... No need for apologizin’.” Regret colored his brief words, as if it wasn’t an apology in itself.
“I’m not, alright? I was just. Wondering if you could show me.”
Show… you?
Before his brain even registered the words, Shunsuke had shifted over, offering a place to sit; drawn by an invisible force, whatever inhibitions Naomichi would normally have dissolved in that moment. He had to steel himself away from the sense of another body, warm and not unlike his own; he felt the need to compress, to give the other space, to say things he meant just a little bit too soon—
“... Naomichi, maybe I should be asking if you’re alright.”
Classic Shunsuke. What would be a joke from anyone else was instead said with genuine concern and Naomichi didn’t know what to say, what to think—and much less why he cared about what he said, what he thought.
Shunsuke was just a dead zone. Around him, any connections to his normal functions died. So maybe that was why, instead of a cutting response or something else similarly on-brand, Naomichi just began to play.
It wasn’t a violent tune, nor a particularly loud one; rather, the slow crooning notes of some American piano ballad filled the room. While Naomichi’s hands weren’t the most deft, the music felt full, fulfilled in the way a weighted blanket comforts, so that with a quick glance to the side he noticed Shunsuke’s eyes were closed. He didn’t mind. It was probably easier for him to listen that way.
Naomichi found himself humming along with the high notes, those he played to illustrate vocals. What surprised him, then, was the way Shunsuke’s voice rose to meet his own. Was he even aware of it? Did he know tha-
“It’s really you-u-u-u on my mind…”
Such mellifluous vocals shook him somewhere deep down, but Naomichi was so at peace for once that he couldn’t bring himself to change course. Not even if he didn’t understand how Shunsuke knew the words, where he learned them.
“It’s really you-u-u-u on my mind…”
Naomichi couldn’t hold his voice in anymore, and judging by the sudden flutter-open of Shunsuke’s eyes, he hadn’t missed it either. Their eyes met for a moment, then darted away, as if that single motion could somehow magically deny it all.
“It’s really you, it’s really you…”
And as Shunsuke’s head slowly came to rest on Naomichi’s shoulder, the sense in his fingers began to fade. He knew it then—for the first time in a while, he was content. As long as Shunsuke was there and breathing easy beside him… he’d be okay.
They’d be okay.