Work Text:
Since Oikawa could remember, he was surrounded by music. He couldn’t think of a time in his life without it. It was a constant in his world, something that he was made of. He felt himself in the music, felt music in him.
He lived and breathed music, against his parent’s will and his own better judgment. By age 9 he was seeking out any CD he could get his hands on, spent what little allowance he had saved up on the newest edition to a favorite artist of his at the time.
It was when he began to pursue his passion that he came to a roadblock. At the peak of his interest, Oikawa bagged piano lessons from a teacher after countless weeks of begging his mom and dad for them. A small victory, but one he was proud of.
Oikawa was excited, he finally had the chance to do what he loved to listen to and watch, it was right within grasp. He bragged to all of his classmates that he would be starting lessons as soon as the following weekend.
But from the first press of the key, and the notes following afterwards, he had to work to build his skill. He was frustrated for the most part, the practice never came as naturally as he wanted it to, the keys felt too hard under his fingers, or his hands didn’t transition as smoothly to the next measure.
Oikawa dropped his head onto the piano, a bang of notes following the motion. And at the ripe age of 10, he wondered if he would ever be good enough to play piano.
“So, what you’re telling me is that he’s not progressing normally?” He could hear his mother’s worried voice through the crack of the door, but no matter how she tried to conceal her voice, he could still hear her.
“He’s not exactly doing what I was expecting this past year. He’s not doing horrible, but he’s not improving all that much either.” His instructor was clear about that all the time, Oikawa thought bitterly.
He didn’t need to hear the rest. Before he knew it, he was being whisked away into his mother’s arms, her grip on his shoulder tight and barely comforting on him as they left the building. Oikawa couldn’t even look at her.
She eyed the small boy from the corner of her vision, a solemn look on her face. “Tooru, honey. How is piano coming along?”
He ignored her completely. What was he going to say that could express his feelings correctly? There’s nothing even to say, he’s embarrassed, and ashamed beyond imagine.
“Tooru, I asked you how piano was.”
“I don’t know, mom. It feels wrong, nothing works how I want it to. The keys just don’t feel right in my hands.” He raised his hands up in the air, making wiggling motions with them. “...I want them to, but I don’t know if I can.” He muttered the last part.
They stopped at the car, and his mother made him face her. They looked into each other’s eyes, Oikawa’s gaze timid in nature. “Are you working hard?” She asked. Oikawa nodded, sniffing.
“But want to be better, I know I can be. I need to do more.”
She ruffles his hair, her kind smile warming little Oikawa’s heart. She was always so kind, a great mother to him and his older sibling. She balanced out his father’s hard and strict personality. “So let’s practice at home, too. Okay? Work twice as hard, and you’ll get where you want to be in due time. You can do anything if you do the best you can, and especially if you do more.”
Oikawa buried his face into her neck, her arms enveloping him like they were made to. “I’ll try real hard, mom.” He whispered.
“I’ll count on it.” She whispered back.