Work Text:
“Grandma, do we have to?”
“Oh, stop complaining, kids.” Futari smiled and ruffled her granddaughter’s hair. “Hitori was a real rock star! Don’t you think it’s exciting?”
“Well, yeah, but – “
“See, you’re curious too! A little work hasn’t hurt anyone. Think of it as a treasure hunt.” She playfully pinched her grandson’s cheeks. “You love your pirate stories, so maybe that’ll help.”
He just groaned in response, but that was better than another complaint, so Futari let him go.
“We’ll take care of the heavy stuff anyway,” her son said as he stepped out of the house with an assortment of large boxes, placing them next to the transport van they’d rented. “You just focus on finding the treasures, alright?”
“Okaaaayyyyyy,” her grandchildren relented in unison, and Futari stifled a laugh.
“Come on then, you two. Let’s see what my sister left behind.”
In the end, there wasn’t all that much to write home about. They did manage to find her original lyrics notebook, but all the unused drafts were scribbled out to the point of being illegible, and what was still readable had already been made into a finished song a long, long time ago.
There were a few picks as well – Hitori had amassed a small collection of them over the years because she found some of them cool (apparently “cool” to her was an anthropomorphic tiger riding a burning motorcycle). Many of them had never been used for playing, but for practicing autographs instead.
The many copies of her first picture with the band, almost equally as many copies of her second picture, and her third, and then, as they took more and more pictures, there were less and less copies, but each and every one was still in pristine condition.
And there was the photo she’d taken with Futari and their parents before moving out.
Futari sniffled a bit, the memory so clear as though it’d only been made the day before.
Still, it was the kind of stuff she had expected to find. They were precious, of course, but there was no surprise to be found.
Until her eyes fell on a drawer that was labelled “Unfinished”.
Taking a deep breath, Futari opened it… to find only a single page, filled a little over halfway with notes.
Futari called her grandson over. “I’m not very good at sightreading, can you play this for me?”
He took a quick look at it before nodding. “It’s fairly easy. Hold on, I’ll get the guitar.”
This was exactly why Futari had insisted to bring the old Les Paul with them – the guitar Hitori had gotten from their father, and then passed on to the next person in the family that wanted to learn guitar.
Nervousness, anxiety, and dread pooled in Futari’s stomach, but she was also a little excited. Honestly, she had a feeling what this piece was.
“Here we go!” Her grandson triumphantly returned with the guitar in hand, sitting down and taking another look at the page. “Let’s try this…”
Sure enough, as soon as the first few notes rang out, the world quickly grew blurry. The familiar melody seemed to reverberate inside Futari’s chest, and she began humming along, even as her voice cracked under the weight of her tears.
It was an old melody Hitori used to play for her; not a proper song, simply something she’d come up with on the spot one time and that Futari felt entranced by. There was no text, no additional instruments, just the two of them and the guitar.
This unfinished work was no different. It was just the melody. Nothing else, and no new parts either – just the exact same as Hitori used to play for her.
Her grandson finished playing, and both him and her granddaughter sat in awkward silence as Futari openly wept. But when he picked up the paper again –
“There’s something written on the back,” Futari’s granddaughter suddenly said. Indeed, there were a few words on the back of it; but they weren’t lyrics.
I’m sorry I never finished this, Futari.
But it didn’t feel right to add anything without you.
I hope it can at least become a cherished memory.
That’s what it was for me for all this time.
It took a moment for the words to sink in, before Futari sobbed loudly, carefully putting the paper to the side to not stain it with her tears.
She’d never actually said it properly, had she? Even at the funeral, she hadn’t been able to put it into words; but maybe now, she finally could.
“Goodbye, Hitori. Thank you for everything.”