Chapter Text
When your life is centered around applause, you know where the silence comes from faster than anybody.
Blinding lights flashing down on Nicholas became part of his daily life since as far as he remembers.
In fact, one of his first memory was surely what shaped his entire life. He was only six years old when his father sat him down at the diner table. He remembered the suit he was forced to wear from his sister's birthday itching him, but he tried to not move and inch; it was for sure a special occasion if his dad tried to hold a conversation only with him and both the anticipation and pride made his cheeks flush.
The chatter of the fanciest guests outside seemed distant to his ears but he defenetely noticed his mother's laugh every one in a while, not the soft chuckle escaping her lips he knows when they were as alone as they could be in the agitated mansion, but her practiced elegant crackle she spent a life of wealth perfecting.
The small boy never understood why all these people he and his sister dind't know more than formal introductions where invited at such an intimate event. When he was invited to his school friend's birthdays, everyone present was only family and close friends counting at the small number of a dozen of adults. But somehow, the Harrison's where not a "normal" family, and even if it sometimes stung, he has always been aware of that.
Instead of cozy sofas and movie nights like he heard of, in his familly, it was more often card games and invitations of special events like he mother called them. In these nights, he spent more time with babysitters than he would have wanted to. He spent countless nights waiting for his parents to come back late, and even if they looked exhausted everytime, they never failed once to pass by his room. Especially his mother staying by, still half dressed with makeup stuck to her skin and high couture still on, sometimes falling asleep with her children while telling them a story.
Nicholas rooted for times like this. His mother always had that smell of expensive perfume and a touch of sweat, and as she sung a lullaby when his sister asked so quietly, he could relax after a day of hard after school learning his father imposed him. And sometimes, before his heavy eyelids drifted him to his soft slumber, he could see his frame in the doorway. He never dared to ask why he never stepped inside. Even if he was strict most of the time by imposing so much work to such a young child, the boy never stayed mad for long and anwsered his calls to go fishing together or to take a walk in their garden.
Instead of spending their day in a theme park, they where more into going to the theatre together. His older sister often fell asleep on his smaller shoulder midway though Shakespeare or Coward and he would lie to his parents everytime he said he didn't rest his own eyes just once. It was not as interesting as the super heroes action movies he saw with his friends the rare occasions he could, but at least the musical interludes where pleasent to hear and helped him stay still for hours despite his young age.
And most important of all, instead of small parties to celebrate events, a whole crowd of prestigious guests where found at each corner of the enormous house they lived in. The night, after everyone left, he would craw on his sister's bed and she would do the same for him each and every year even since he could walk. They would light a candle on top of a small leftover pastry, secretly so their parents wouldn't be mad about the fire next to the sheets, and share it. They had so much of everything they needed, but in times like theses, only a bite was enough to fill their hearts.
Nicholas never understood why his familly was different. But it was not a bad thing from his perspective of a small kid.
At least until this precise day, Catherine's eleventh birthday, when he was sat down by his father that had all his attention.
He doesn't remember his exact words, but the vivid image of a small casquet was in graved in his brain. It was black with golden embroidery, looking soft at the touch and catching the lights of the chandeliers of the dining room. In his father's hands, it seemed to weight as much as its size, but when the boy put a hand on top of it, he noticed that it was not only itching his palm but was just big enough to compare it to his whole arm.
He remembered soft but firm words like "polyvalence" and "multiple benefits" muffled by the time that has passed, it was only a flash until another memory spawned in his brain.
The lights of the conservatory hurting his pupils every time he tried to look at the public. The anxiety making his fingers shake at the start of his representation. And the accomplishment when the music was quickly replaced by applause.
If he squinted his eyes enough, maybe he could have seen his familly in the front row cheering as he bowed down, and their eyes following him and only him as the small crowd of young musicians left the stage to put their instruments back in their respective casquet.
He could recall being bored at his celebration party afterwards, happy he was officially accepted in the conservatory, but bored nonetheless. But at least, he and his sister escaped the annoying congratulations from all these old people they barely knew to draw charming stickmen on a funky looking sketchbook together in a smaller guest room.
That day, he felt proud of himself, especially when his father warmly hugged him from one of the only times in his life.
From that day on, all other activities like his biweekly swimming or cooking classes were reduced to make more room for his musical talent. He wished it was the same for his tutoring after school, but perfection was not a choice especially at an age where other learn basic calculus while you need to sit down while an old woman is teaching you Pithagore's. It was hard, yes, but he could do it over again if it meant to hear that your parents are proud of what you are becoming, especially if you have a genius of an older sister.
Most of all, he had something she didn't that ensured him his success and his parent's bragging: music was not a burden, it was a passion. Ever since he got that violin in an attempt to expend his capacities, his schedule was filled with it. He was called a prodigy after each show without fail, giving him that warm feeling in his head running to his hardened fingertips, and it was more than enough to satisfy him.
As far as he remembered, he has always been a happy child. Like a sunray peeking though clouds in a life of monotony for everyone around him. He did have some issues who didn't? But it always ended well with his positivity and his mother's kisses on his slighy tanned and rosey cheeks.
It was alright is his memories. He felt alright. At least it was when the applause made him.