Work Text:
McQueen was wandering.
With her slow, almost aimless, advance, the hardened rubber sole of her shoes made heavy thuds against the wooden floorboards. Every inch forwards she took was a slog that narrowed the distance from where she was to where she’ll be by just a single step.
Just one.
Haaaaaah.
Out of the entire hall ahead of her. One classroom after another, narrowing down to a room at the corner.
The sight made her feel the elastic tension building up in her leg brace. There was that sensation of resistance pushing against what little flex her muscle fibres could make in every step forward, slowly dragging her down in a thick, rich, honey-like viscosity.
Honey?
Honey…
…
Such a silly thing to think about.
Ridiculous, even.
There were far better things to spend her time on. Like, how it was a struggle to keep her gait elegant, the conditioned pattern within her strut firing without the supporting structure to keep it going. Turning her motions into slow, radiating pain.
She was already tiring out, really.
Ligaments aching more than they should. Breaths a little heavier than yesterday.
She had to continue.
Continue listening to the stories of track and turf. Continue staring off into the windows when other classes have their training. Continue resting, recovering, building back up to what she once was.
Maybe this is what she felt like…
Or maybe not. How can she know, really?
Teio always kept her feelings far too close to herself.
She trodded on forwards.
Walked closer.
And closer.
She could see a double-door in a corner that seemed a little much out of use.
It wasn’t exactly unusual for a place like Tracen.
While most rooms had the daily wear and tear from students coming and going in with their cleats, the wooden floorboards leading up to this one lacked the scuff marks that came from reckless girls bringing in their track shoes. There were no dents, no footprints, no use. She could almost find it sad.
The room was there only as an institutional requirement, a structure built to tick boxes, something that you just had to have to be a school that educated students, based on Tracen’s annual budget. It was practically made to be underloved and underappreciated.
A plaque sits on top: “Music Room #01”.
There probably wasn’t a #02.
She took step after step.
It got closer and closer.
And Mejiro McQueen found herself right in front of that sliding double door, her legs tired and kept so frustratingly still in her leg brace. Her breath was a little ragged. Undignified.
But she was doing something at least, and that was much better than stillness. This was just a minor passion and nowhere near as nice as racing, but… it was still refined.
Still quite befitting of a Mejiro.
She cracked the door open, stuffing it into the margins of the wall. The sight gave her pause. A moment left for her to gasp, to draw in that rare little wonder of amazement.
Her eyes landed on a fine piece of woodworking, the prideful result of sheer technical ability of hundreds of artisans and engineers.
Right there, just in front of her.
It was the glossy black sheen of paint coating the wooden rim of the precisely made piece of work, gold accents glimmering with the sparkle of midday sunlight peering into the room through the half-parted curtains of the arched windows.
The imposingly wide figure of the lid raised and propped by the elegant stand that held it open put the grand in grand piano.
Each peek at the mechanical guts within, where felt-tipped hammers sat next to the metal strings that spanned the full length of half the entire room and the prim elegance of the instrument, was just tempting her to open it with how beautiful the thing was.
She wasn’t unfamiliar with pianos. There were at least a hundred hours of tutoring in her memory between her first glance at a piano, and her sight of this one. This, this thing, brimming with dignity, with expectation.
After closing the door behind her, it only took a moment for her to ignore her pain and reach the seat. The velvet cushioning padded her gently compared to the regular amount of squish the wooden chairs the classrooms have.
And there she was, sitting right by the piano, more than ready and willing to start.
Her fingers could barely resist lifting up the cover.
Gently, she pulled it open.
The black and white keys were alternating in that ever so familiar 5-7 arrangement that made up a full octave, with a gloss from the waxed finish on the ivory and ebony. Her hands reflexively graced themselves into their spots on the treble and bass, lining up on the high and low notes.
A quick turn of the right knobs, and the seat was just at the perfect height, for her to get a good feel for the pedals, the triplets of soften, dampen and sustain-(en?), pressed down as easily and gently as her softest touch made them engage.
Good.
Her leg wasn’t in the perfect condition to be messing around with the pedals, but it was a light, non-strenuous movement. Practically rehab-like in nature.
She wasn’t the best at this. Every other Mejiro she could name was probably more proficient than her at playing the piano.
But, she learned enough to play by muscle memory. Just enough.
…
Okay.
She could do this.
Taking a deep breath, she took a moment to choose what to play. To start any piece, it had to be in rhythm, the beats landing on the right parts of the musical time to fit within the time signature. And she was feeling for something that wouldn’t strain her too much.
Something soft.
Something slow.
Something passionate.
With the first press of a chord, she began at the home key, the starting flutters of a melody. Then, the first bar, the steps dancing as her fingers bounced between one key and the next, moving, gracing, taking each moment in full care to let the harmony resonate. Each press built and relieved tension in the metal strings of the sheer instrument in front of her.
It wasn’t perfect.
Nothing about what she did these days really was.
She was out of focus, out of practice, and out of concentration.
Her mind wandered to thoughts of the girls she could see running along outside and in the sun, their names recording themselves in stopwatches and news articles, in memories she’d never get to make again.
But the keys pressed on, straying farther and farther from where they began, echoing out in the same repeated tune, shifted, out of place.
Out of comfort.
Again and again, her dreams falter a little close to the finish line. Her promise with that strong-headed girl goes ever unfulfilled, like lines destined to cross once and never again.
Nothing ever seemed to go right.
Their dance- that waltz, forever on hold.
Forever stuck and sustained in the echoes between each note.
Never reaching resolution, nothing proper. They were stuck with glances and cold morning walks to nowhere in particular.
Both of them struggling to bring back the spark of competition, where steps moved to the tempo of a pair of beating hearts.
She wanted to chase the feeling of blood pumping through every artery and vein, that crescendo building up tension and pressure and emotion of cutting right into the rushing wind, arms outstretched. A whole world of track spanned ahead of them towards the endless horizon, reaching, stretching for both heaven and earth. Side by side, getting closer and closer and closer to the unreachable illusory distance.
It was a race she would never dare to forget.
That space where it was just the two of them. Running with Teio slightly behind her, pushing her forwards and forwards and making her legs hurt with how much she wanted to push herself for her.
It was unfair.
It was far from perfect.
Teio got tired and had to fall back, the tone of her steps vanishing into the crowd.
And she could only wonder.
Just wonder.
How it would’ve been if she had been running in a medium race with her instead. At Teio’s best distance, at a playing field both of them excelled at, regardless of condition.
But, the whole part is left unresolved, in stasis. Both of them were stuck trying desperately to claw their way back to the track.
It wasn’t fair that their bodies were so easily injured, that each part was destined to wear and break and bend to the mortal limits of biology. Each time a little less than what they were before, playing the same tune at a softer and softer volume.
But.
There was a part of her that didn’t want to leave things hanging, that wished, foolishly, for a chance that would never be.
For a race that never was.
The goddesses rarely listen to wishes like that though.
And so she’s here.
With her fingers gliding across the keys of a well-kept piano, whining and drowning herself in the same sad song that she keeps in her head. With a fleeting feeling she’ll never get to keep. The melody she never got to finish with—
Creeeeeeek.
The rough sound of the door behind her made her pause.
But she continued playing for a little longer, until the tension made her turn around.
“Hey–” her hands froze as she stared at the girl she was just thinking about. The brunette with overconfidence, the brown and red and fiery passion of a girl bundled into an unending optimistic package. “Teio.”
“Sorry for interrupting you, McQueen.” the girl inched a little closer, crutches leading her inside before she slammed the door shut with her entrance. For a moment, the smile crossed on Teio’s face seemed to wince. “It’s a little hard to be as graceful as you in my current condition.”
“I… It’s okay.” McQueen rested her hands on the keyboard. Why was she… “Not getting lunch?”
“I just had a quick snack.” That overly relaxed grin placed itself on her face. “Got myself a little curious about the music in the hallway — I didn’t know you could play.” Teio giggled. God, she giggled with that lighthearted chirp of a laugh. “I thought you made yourself out to be too good for anything other than racing.”
“Every Mejiro gets a well-rounded education,” she grumbled back. “Music was one of the subjects I found some time to spare for when I needed to rest my legs. It’s not like I could spend my days running all the time.”
Teio stared at her quietly.
There were times when the invincible facade of a girl high on hope faded a little.
There were times that she could see the flicker of the flame.
And maybe right now, she might’ve remarked it was smothered down into mere embers.
Glowing, burning, trying its best to hide behind that cheery expression on her face.
But… it needed fuel.
And there wasn’t much left to burn.
…
…Eventually, though, the ever-excitable girl popped back up in a smile. As if there wasn’t just. Ugh. “...do you think that I could pick up an instrument?”
“Of course you can, Teio.” she said, watching Teio widen her grin. “Most of learning an instrument is putting in the time to figure out how it works. There’s nothing really innate to it. Just… play and play and play.”
“Until something beautiful like your melody earlier comes out of it?”
A small blush parked itself on McQueen’s face.
“If you try hard enough, I think you definitely could play like that.” she couldn’t keep her tail still. “And if, if I know anything about you, you definitely work hard.”
“Awww, thanks McQueen.” Teio giggled, moving in a little closer to join her on the seat. “Maybe I could learn the- uhm, whatever instrument that’s always played with piano.”
“...the violin?”
“Yeah!” the girl in front of her nodded rather quickly, “They form duets with those two all the time, and– well, I was thinking it’d be nice to do something with you every once in a while like that. If-” Teio took a moment to start breathing again. “If you’re free to do that, of course.”
“If you’re able to play the violin… I don’t see a reason to refuse.” she giggled back. “I think the Mejiro music teacher plays violin on the side too? Maybe I could get her to teach you, and there’s always butler-san to drive you to our place when you have lessons! And, uhm- yeah. It’s totally possible.”
…
Teio nodded.
…
…
…
“Maybe we’re both a little bored now that we can’t run.” the girl sighed. “It’s sort of weird, thinking about things we’d do other than racing.”
“But, it’s nice, every once in a while.”
“Yeah.” Teio leaned in on her shoulder. She didn’t really mind, nor could she ever bring herself to mind the gentle touch of that girl’s hair. “I wish more things were nice.”
“Don’t we all?” McQueen’s hands settled into the keys, playing one random chord after another, lacking any real sense of rhyme or meter. “Not everything can go our way.”
“Of course, of course, just.” Teio sighed a little. Has she ever done that before around her? “What was the name of the thing you were playing earlier?”
“Oh? Uhm…” Her mind came up empty. “I don’t really remember.”
“A mysteriously unnamed symphony…” she gave out a weak smile. “That’s fine. Good. It was good. You’re good, Makween.”
“...you’re good too, Teio.”
They both giggled.
And just for today, the melody within the music room got a little brighter.