Chapter Text
A slap rung throughout the hallways of the house. The child bit his inner cheek to stop himself from crying, musical scores spread messily on the floor. His mother, sat on a wheelchair, huffing as she stared at him not like his mother—but as a teacher. She hasn't treated him like her son, anyways.
" You.. disappointing bastard! I told you, I told you— one and a half, one and a half! What do you not get about that?! You will end up in the bottomless pit of losers if you continue slacking off! "
The sting of her words was more painful than the abuse she inflicted upon him. All he could do was take the hits; the things she spat about him were just—embedded deep into his young mind.
Worthless.
Disappointment.
Useless.
Imperfect.
Loser.
That's all what he is.
" .. Just go to your room! I don't want to see you again! "
That, he did. He went to his room and covered himself with the soft blanket. There, he let out all his tears and muffled sobs as he caressed the red spot of his mother's abuse.
..
It's been years, since then.
His mom has died when he was still young, sure, but that... didn't really affect him. He's guilty of that. Now, he's sitting in front of the grand piano—he took care of it. It's always been what he went to, whenever he had a bad day.
He has a problem, though
He's been trying to play it for a few weeks now
He can't.. play
What?
But he's been playing for all his life, what happened, now?
Both hands rested on the white notes, pressing random ones occasionally, but he could not form a performance for himself. Not one single chord came into mind— he was stuck.
He can't play at all
When he tries, it's blank
If he tries to play a musical score, it sounds muffled. There's no passion
...
Wait
......
Passion?
... Oh
That's it.
That's when he realized, he'd no passion for this instrument anymore.
That's.. interesting
Because he remembered so clearly, the hours of gruesome practice that produced a prodigy.
Could play something by ear, with passion, for fun, or simply for his mother's satisfaction
Now, he could not hear anything of his own performance. Nothing.
Just blank.
.. and
Muffled.
The silence was deafening. He didn't move from his position, he was just staring at the notes as if doing so would get him to play—nothing worked.
Knocks sounded, snapping him out of his dazed state. He stood and walked towards the front door, opening it and taking a look at who was outside.
Who he saw made his every bone and muscle relax, and he released a deep breath he didn't realize he was holding. The person who knocked was his best friend since childhood.
Eggchan. Or— well, Egg.
He was almost like an older brother to Wemmbu. He'd been there when his mother got a little bit too forceful, a little bit too violent on him. He'd rush to Egg, while the older one comforted him with hugs and sweet words.
" Hey, bro. " Eggchan spoke,
He was a rather unique guy. He had white hair with blue and black streaks on his bangs—that covered half his face. If you squinted, you'd almost see an eye because of it. He rarely showed anyone his eyes, he only did to Wemmbu. His eyes were beautiful, full of warmth and comfort that—when Wemmbu saw them for the first time, he nearly cried.
" Hey, need anything? " He smiled at Egg, and the other returned it.
" Just.. you know, wanted to ask if you were okay. You haven't left the house in a while, dude. "
Those words left Wemmbu a bit struck. That can't be. It's been— how long has it been since he's gone out?
" My bad, Egg. Just preparing for Uni. " He spat out a— well, hey, that's not a lie. He has been preparing his school supplies, uniform, money, and everything.
" Really, bro? Well.. are you done with it? I can help. " He offered, relaxing his hand on his hip as he tilted his head a bit.
" Nah, I'm fine, bro. Thanks, though. " He shook his head slightly. Egg sighed and giggled.
" Alright, bro. Wanna go fishing? "
" Fishing? Bro, I know you like that, but it's like.. 6 in the morning. "
" Oh. "
The two erupted into a fit of laughter—
" B- bro, bro, Wemmbu, why do you sound like you're coughing money instead of ACTUALLY laughing, bro— "
Wemmbu almost spit out a lung, there. Nah, he did not laugh like a millionaire!
" Egg, bro— my laugh is just pretending to be rich. "
The laughter somehow got even more intense, and Wemmbu hadn't had a good laugh in a while.
" D'alright, bro, have you even eaten yet? "
Eggchan went quiet, just standing still and thinking.
" ... Sooo, uh, kind oooof. No. "
Wemmbu chuckled and face palmed.
" How do you not— eat first.. go eat, Egg. "
" 'Eat Egg?!' no! "
" That's not what I said— "
Egg snickered, patting his own chest as a means to calm his own laugh down as Wemmbu almost stumbled behind.
" D'alright, bro, I'll go eat.. "
His CBF; aka, Childhood Best Friend, nodded as he skipped away. Wemmbu's face ended up with a soft smile as he went back inside and closed the door fully. Letting out a long, relieving sigh.
He looked back at the living room, he needed to clean up.
..
And maybe, tune the piano again. It's been months. Maybe that's why he can't play. Not passion.
.. surely, right?
Whatever. He went to the garage and grabbed the tuning kit that existed before he was even alive. It's kind of.. amusing that it lived past his mother.
Okay, maybe that wasn't too funny. He just needs to cope. He didn't— okay, leave it at that.
He got back to the piano and opened it up, revealing the strings that still looked as durable compared to their age. He pocketed his phone and opened a tuning app, picking the tuning lever from the kit.
One click on the phone, a tune rung out. He pressed the same key, it sounded the same.
Then he did this
Over
And
Over
And
Over
And
Over
And..
....
He huffed, and closed the piano. He didn't know why he was so frustrated. The piano sounded in tune— so why? Surely not his passion, actually? No?
He's been considering it since earlier but he was just a bit out of his mind. Surely the piano is the problem. Not him.
Not.. him.
No.
It's the piano, not him.
....
He needs to relax, he needs to eat. Why would he even try tuning the already-in-tune piano without eating? Maybe he's just out of energy.
So he did.
He cooked himself some sunny side ups and bacon, ate it with toast, and washed it all down with cold water from the fridge.
He washed the dishes, and went back to the piano. Staring at it for a few seconds, contemplating what excuses he needed to make to convince himself that he isn't losing passion. No. He is not— He's not losing passion, maybe musician's block, does that exist? Maybe? That should be the case, right?
...
He can't think of another excuse
It's really not his passion, right?
...
He needs to finish preparing for Uni.