Work Text:
Sunday dreamt of a boy playing a piano that night. He had never seen the kid in his life, yet there's something oddly familiar about him. He approached the piano, hoping that a closer look would help him recognize the boy. Brown hair, blue shirt, black shorts, and a white vest.
A fashion style he's certainly not familiar with either.
The boy stopped playing and turned his head towards Sunday. Brown eyes sparkle as he looks at the confused Halovian, a bright smile adorning his face. “Would you like to join me, mister?”
Sunday doesn't decline the invitation. He sat next to the boy on the piano bench and watched as those little fingers glided between the keys. Key by key, part by part. It sounded clunky, if Sunday has to be honest. There are off-key notes here and there. Even so, the kid looked happy with whatever he attempted to play.
And one needs to make mistakes in order to improve.
So Sunday refrained from making any unsolicited comment, and listened to the tune he was offered.
-
He dreamt of the same scenario the next night. The same boy played the same tune on the piano while Sunday sat next to him. His playing has certainly improved compared to last time, the random tune slowly turning coherent in a sense.
“I want to be a pianist when I grow up!” the boy exclaimed, his fingers still dancing among the keys. A melodious tune, filled with joy. Almost reflecting the boy’s current mood. Sunday can’t help but smile as well, hearing the ambition.
“I’m sure you’ll achieve it with flying colors.” Sunday encouraged, and the boy grinned ever so widely.
-
“What's your name?” Sunday decided to ask on the third night. It was still the same dream with the same boy. He figured he should have known how to refer to the boy by now, even if it’s just a dream.
The boy stopped playing and looked up. Look up at the ceiling as if the answer were right there. Moments passed, and he finally received his answer;
“Joachim. My name is Joachim,” the boy grinned, and Sunday asked the kid to repeat it so he could pronounce it correctly.
Joachim.
Still, he has never met any Joachim in his life before.
-
It’s the fourth night, and the boy’s random composition turned into proper music. Sunday listened as Joachim played from the start, as the slow, stuttering tune crescendoed into something more cheerful. He listened, and couldn’t help but hum along. Adding vocals. Registering the keys in his brain. Memorising the melodies that filled his dream space.
As he listened, he also noticed how the tune started to shift. From that happy melody, he also registered some melancholy hidden in between. That melancholy slowly becomes sorrowful as it continues. It was somehow making Sunday uneasy, but he tried brushing it off.
He woke up before he could hear Joachim reach the end of his song.
-
He meets Joachim again in his dream the next night. However, the boy’s playing doesn’t sound as enthusiastic as the previous nights. It was slower, more strained, more tense…
As if the boy was hesitating…
“Is… everything alright?” Sunday tried asking.
The boy was silent. He slowly stopped playing, his eyes remained locked on the keys. “Growing up with big expectations from others… Responsibilities to bear… Is that all it took to wear one down?” His words were vague, and Sunday couldn’t stop thinking about it when he woke up minutes later.
-
There was no piano music on the sixth night. Sunday sat alone on the piano bench in his dream. Joachim was nowhere to be seen that night, and the Halovian didn’t feel like playing anything either.
There was nothing but silence.
-
Sunday woke up abruptly that night, and had trouble going back to sleep. On top of that, the music he had heard in his dream wouldn’t stop playing in his head, and it’s been haunting him the entire day on the Express. Disrupting his focus whenever he was in the middle of doing his duties.
There was also a sense of… dissatisfaction, whenever that music ended abruptly in his mind. Incomplete. The composition was incomplete, and Sunday was aware of it.
He also can’t help but wonder, is Joachim alright?
Deciding he won’t be getting any sleep tonight, he got out of his room and let his feet take him wherever they wanted to as he lost himself in his thoughts. Back to the image of that kid that remained crystal clear in his mind. Back to the thought of that music the kid had played. Back to the question he was asked.
He found himself standing outside the room with the piano when he finally registered his surroundings. Sunday wondered if the recent dreams had influenced his destination. But it’s also no surprise, he does like hiding in here whenever he wants to be alone. So without a second thought, he slid the door open and walked in. Deciding that a little late-night playing was not a bad idea to clear his thoughts. He walked towards where the grand piano was placed, and was surprised to see he was not alone.
“Mr Yang?”
Said Nameless responded upon hearing his name, confirming that it was indeed him. Welt turned from where he’s sitting, on the piano bench at the corner of the room.
“Ah, Sunday, good evening.” Welt greeted as Sunday made his way towards him. “Insomnia bothering you again?” he asked kindly, concern evident in his voice.
Sunday hummed, sitting next to the older man on the long piano bench. He breathed before looking at the other face to face. “I could ask the same about you, Mr Yang,” he said, trying to sound as genuinely curious as he could. “I didn’t expect to find you here of all places if I’m being honest.”
Whenever Sunday chose to hide, Welt never failed to find him here. Ever since then, Welt had been the only one Sunday allowed to keep him company. The only one that can be close on his bad days.
So seeing how it’s the other way around tonight, assuming Welt was having a bad day, it raised suspicion in him.
The older one let out a short laugh. “Just reminiscing,” he answered—Sunday could sense that melancholy in his voice. Welt’s eyes glanced towards the closed piano in front of them before shifting his attention back to the Halovian. “What about you? Is everything alright?”
After debating with himself, Sunday chose to tell Welt about his dream. About the boy and the music that he’s been playing this week, and how it ended abruptly, leaving him unsatisfied. As he told his story, he observed Welt to see his reaction. Welt listened, nodding, not interrupting a single word that came out of his mouth. He also noticed something gleaming in his eyes, but it disappeared just as fast as it appeared.
It’s still an odd feeling; Sunday was so used to being the listener back in Penacony. The number of times Welt had to remind him he’s allowed to vent out whatever’s weighing him down. Reminding him that Welt can always make time if he’s still uncomfortable sharing with the other crew. Because that’s what companions are for, he would reason, and Sunday can’t help but agree.
“So you’re saying, you believe this ‘ Joachim ’ wrote a song in your dream but never finished it?” Welt put Sunday’s story on recap, eyeing the Halovian to silently ask if he’s missing anything. Sunday nodded to confirm. That does indeed sound like what he thought of whenever he recalled his dream. It has to be an unfinished piece, it sounded unfinished to his ears.
But what if it’s not? What if Sunday is fussing over nothing more than noises in his head?
But then, what about that vague question Joachim had asked?
Sunday’s internal spiralling down the question, and Welt easily pulled him out with a firm grip on his shoulder.
Welt glanced at the piano cover once more before his hand reached out and uncovered the keys hidden underneath. “Would you like to try playing it tonight? Perhaps you can give it the proper ending it needs,” he suggested, smiling kindly to the Halovian.
Sunday blinked. His mind must’ve been playing tricks, but there’s a certain expression on Welt’s face when he suggested that. Putting that aside, he then shifted his focus towards the piano keys, giving the suggestion some consideration. He was planning on playing something tonight in the first place, after all.
And he does have experience writing music compositions before. Albeit this feels wrong, knowing the song doesn’t belong to him, he really wants to know how it ends.
Surely the kid wouldn’t mind, right? He’ll keep the song to himself, with only Welt as the witness tonight.
So he got himself comfortable and placed his hands in position, Welt scooting himself out a bit to give space. He closed his eyes, trying to recall how the music started. Just like what he heard Joachim did on the first night, he pressed one key at a time. Hesitating, experimenting. Cringing at every off-note that came out from certain key combinations.
Isn’t that how it always goes for every child? Curiosity in every step they took? Without a care whether what they’re doing is right or wrong?
Slowly, Sunday found the rhythm he needed for this piece. The curious stutter turned confident and cheerful, such melodies filled the coach pleasantly. Sunday kept his eyes closed as he lost himself in the music.
Like a kid enjoying their childhood without worrying about the world's gloom.
He kept going, and just like in his dream, the cheerful music slowly became sorrowful. His mind seemed to provide him with a different image as his fingers worked through the piece. Back to the thought of Penacony.
Back to the thought of his previous life.
He wondered if that kid also went through something similar as Sunday? Has his childhood been taken away from him far too early? Could that be what he meant by ‘wearing one down’?
He kept playing, and playing, slowly approaching that point. He played, and played, as his brain worked on deciding which direction he should go next.
Try as he might, he, unfortunately, still reached that abrupt end at the same point where he woke up from his dream. His fingers paused mid-air, unsure where to go. Where should he place his hand next? Should he go low, or should he go high?
Slower? Faster?
One key at a time?
Multiple at once?
He squeezed his eyes shut, his hands curled up into fists, and brought it closer to himself. He tried replaying the song in his mind, humming along, thinking it might help. But his mind was running blank. He can feel himself growing frustrated. He could hear Welt sigh next to him, and a hand returned to his shoulder.
Ah, did he disappoint him?
It was Welt's suggestion that he could try giving it an ending, but in the end, it was still Sunday’s decision to take on the challenge.
Before he could spiral down any further, his ears picked up the sound of the piano playing once more. That can't be right. His hands are still curled up. He certainly can’t be playing if his hands are nowhere near the keys. So if it’s not him, then who’s–
He opened his eyes, and saw Welt pressing a few keys closest to him with one hand. The notes sounded similar to the stuttering start of the song. The next thing he did, however, surprised Sunday; Welt brought both of his hands onto the instrument, and started playing the song from the beginning.
Welt Yang was actually playing the piano.
It's such a surprise to Sunday, because he remembers Welt saying he doesn’t play the piano. And he guessed it kind of showed, the older man’s playing was slower. But he still gets the tune right, the same one Sunday had attempted to play. His eyes were locked onto Welt’s hands, observing its movement. His ears listened carefully. Every note, every melody, it’s the same one. 1:1. Aside from the slower tempo, nothing was amiss.
‘Is Welt’s memory just that good? How did he get it right after hearing it only once?’ Sunday wondered.
Welt kept going, getting closer and closer to where Sunday had gotten stuck. He was expecting the older man to slow down his playing to a stop. Instead, Welt carried on, and a new set of arrangements was played, continuing the song. It shifted, still carrying that somber tune, along with something lighter. Soothing. Like a faint hope breaking free. Subtle, but it’s there.
After what feels like an eternity, the song slowly met its end. Then, it was silent. Sunday was still dumbfounded by what he just witnessed. Is there anything this Nameless can’t do?
“I’m sorry.” Welt sounded sheepish, a hand scratching his neck. “I asked you to play, yet I’m the one who got carried away.” He turned his head towards the Halovian, and for a second there, Sunday saw the kid once more, overlapping with Welt’s figure. His eyes widened. It’s only then that Sunday realized they both have the same hair and eye color, and right now, the same smile.
So, it can’t be…
“You’re… Joachim?”
Welt hummed, returning his gaze towards the music instrument, “It’s been a while since I last heard someone call me by my real name. Only a few knew about it, and they’re all back in my home world, far, far away.”
Real name?
Oh right…
Welt had told him before that he got his name from an old friend. But that still didn’t answer why…
“Y-you said you don’t play the piano.” Almost accusing, but mostly curious, the words stumbled out of Sunday’s mouth before he realized what he said.
Welt didn’t seem to mind, or maybe he’s used to Sunday’s speech habit by now. “I don’t,” he still insisted, before adding a sentence that brings a different meaning. “Not anymore.” His hands hovered over the piano keys in front of him. “I used to play the piano, yes. But, ever since I inherited this name and power, you could say I let ‘Joachim’... die alongside my hero. My old life, my old dreams, they all passed on with them.”
“So… when you said you’re reminiscing… and being in front of the piano…?”
“It’s… a long story.” Welt interrupted almost immediately. “I don’t think I want to bore you with the details tonight.”
Sunday’s earwings drooped. It was then he realized, Welt knew everything about the former head of the Oak Family. But Sunday doesn’t know much about Welt Yang’s background. “As someone who tells me to vent out my frustrations, you sure like deflecting yours.” He murmured.
He’s probably making faces too, because he heard Welt chuckle shortly after. “Alright, alright,” the man said between laughter. “I admit I haven’t been in the best headspace as of late.” he lifted his hand towards Sunday, and the Halovian reached for it halfway, holding it. “I don’t play the piano. But sitting in front of it… brings both pleasant memories and cold reality.”
There was a sad expression hiding behind Welt’s smile, Sunday noted.
“I do wonder how I ended up in your dream. I hope I didn’t take up too much of your sleep with my concern. And if I do, I apologize.”
And of course his concern will still be elsewhere but his own. Sunday shook his head, deciding not to pry any further. With how much Welt would attempt to comfort him on his bad days, letting the ‘kid version’ of him linger in his dream feels like the least he can do for the older man.
There was nothing else that was said between them. Welt was still gazing longingly at the piano while Sunday played with his hand. Giving it a gentle squeeze now and then. Sunday’s eyes peeked towards the nearest wall clock in the room, taking note of how much longer until the supposed wake-up hour that the Express had set.
Not for another 4 hours… It’s already so late, and Sunday doesn't feel like returning to his room anytime soon. And with how Welt remained seated next to him, he figured he’d be doing the same.
“Mr Yang… can we play that song again?” he asked. A suggestion. He wanted to help Welt, even if the man won’t talk about it out loud. And playing the piano always helped him with his busy thoughts. “Perhaps, you can teach me how it ends?”
Welt doesn’t decline the invitation.
Every song has its end.
Yet their journey keeps moving on.