Chapter Text
“Will you ever stop writing songs about him?”
It came so sudden- as soon as I pulled my fingers back from the worn acrylic keys. His tone was light and friendly enough- but the nature of what he said left me feeling accused. I turn my head to look at him, trying to get a read on what he meant by that. A read, on Kiyotaka. Not possible.
“What makes you assume it’s about anyone? It’s just music.” As if I viewed any of my recent pieces as ‘just’ music. My whole being was poured into those notes. If I wasn’t playing music about him, I was thinking about him. Still, that wasn’t any business of Kiyotaka’s. We didn’t talk about him, that was off limits by my own personal choice.
“It’s the nature of it, Rutherford.”
Damn that bastard. What right did he have to make judgements on people’s emotions like that? He isn’t God- not anymore. I didn’t need him to tell me what to do and think and feel anymore. Ayumu gave me a different kind of hope. A better hope the true Narumi could never offer.
“Say it is about him… what’s wrong with that?”
“It’s been ages. Don’t you think you should move on now?”
“I didn’t invite you over so you could criticize my grieving period, Kiyotaka.” I snapped back, years of unspoken blame threatening to spill over. Kiyotaka sat quietly, staring through me for a long moment, processing. No, calculating. Did everything have to be a test of wits with this guy? It wasn’t fair. You couldn’t even be his friend without him analyzing every word and movement and choice in lunch meat. I sighed, looking him in the eyes. “Sorry. I just want to know what you think of it. I value your input on these things, you know.” Without a word he stood and came to the piano, sliding onto the bench. I moved down to give him room. He ran a hand over the keys before resting his hands in place, saying nothing still as he started to play, sight-reading my piece.
I was overcome in that moment. His fingers danced across the keys like he had never quit playing in the first place. Something about hearing my own music- something so deeply personal- played by him confused my emotions. I was angry. I was angry at Kiyotaka. Hizumi. Kanone. The whole world. I was sad, for all my wasted years and for the years Kanone would never have. But more than anything I felt lost. Overwhelmed in a world that I was never supposed to be apart of. I wasn’t supposed to make it past 18, and yet here I was at 20, watching Kiyotaka Narumi play piano in my apartment.
Damn him.
He stopped abruptly before finishing, turning his head sharply to look at me. Did he find something wrong with the piece? Or was he planning on breaking it down note by note to prove he was right about it’s subject? The latter seemed more likely.
“Why did you stop?” I managed, my voice coming out more strained than I had expected.
Kiyotaka was painfully silent as the next few minutes slowed to feel like hours to my mind. Was he waiting for me to say something, or was he thinking of his next move in the chess game he played with people’s lives? Either way, I wasn’t going to let him push me around the board like a pawn. I reached for my music, the thought of ripping it to shreds to teach him a lesson on the forefront of my mind. Kiyotaka caught my wrist in his hand just as my fingertips touched the paper.
“You’ll regret it, if you destroy that now.” He said coolly. “It’s a beautiful piece.” And with that he released his grip and stood, making his way to the door. “I told Madoka I’d be home for dinner, so I better head out.” I replied with a nod, turning away. I didn’t move again until he had put his shoes on and shown himself out the door.
I looked back at my sheet music. If Kiyotaka wouldn’t offer anything other than insulting my muse and then telling me it was “beautiful”, there was at least another person I could confide my music in. I picked the sheets up and stood. It had been a while since we’d seen each other, anyway, and music was the perfect excuse.