A/N: … Wow. It's been a while since I posted to this side of … For those who are still following me after my last fic for this fandom in 2009-2011 or so, if you can recognize me, hi. Long time no see! I got better, I promise! For those of you new to my stuff who have no idea what I'm talking about, trust me. You don't want to know.

Thank you SO MUCH to my betas Kat (Makapedia) and ProMa herself! You guys really tore this thing apart and made it MUCH better than it was. Thanks SO MUCH! And another big thank you to Mr. ProMa for creating the song that I wrote this to! You can find it on tumblr or in the master post with all the other Reverb projects! It's worth finding! It's AWESOME!

Enough of my rambling, though! Onto this monster of a fic!

xXx

It all started with a sigh. Not a sad sigh by any stretch, but a quick, relieving sigh as he stood on top of the world. Or at least that's what it felt like after the climb, metaphorically and literally, to get here. With a deep breath through his nose, he felt the tension he once had bubble into his lungs like some sort of purifying magic, where it was really just inhaling. He never thought something so simple would make the weight on his shoulders vanish so calmly; almost instantly. And then, his sigh. And then it was all behind him.

xXx

Piano music drifted through the foyer; the dark atmosphere created by closed, black curtains were a cruel irony to his fate complete with the dark, tiled flooring and the supposedly beautiful and happy song being played. Matching the atmosphere, red eyes stared down at the keys, dreary and lack luster; as the young pianist-in-training played, a taller figure with white hair echoing his own simply stood proudly, eyes closed, nodding his head every now and then. Just a few notes more, and then it was time for the last fadeaway, and the pianist was – hopefully – done for the day. The thought nearly made him tense up and stop playing. But with a slight pout on his lips in fear, he suppressed the instinctive urge, unwilling to show weakness under the watchful gaze of his father. One wrong move, one slip up, and he'd never hear the end of it. At the age of twelve, just recently turned, it didn't really occur him that something was very wrong with everything before him. Rarely allowed outside, he was stuck with his father, mother, brother, and 3 or 4 servants, who weren't allowed to voice their opinions lest they be yelled at from what Soul had regrettably witnessed. Everything added up and he was never given any light towards the truth of his situation at all. With one key pressed with just one finger and hold… he was free. What a relief. He sighed, but it wasn't enough as he awaited his father's approval and rating. He kept his head down, still staring at the keys, when he heard a hum of thought. He didn't have to turn around to see his old man nodding.

"Good. I see much improvement in your technique and flow." His gruff voice, once natural but now saturated with cigar smoke, vibrated in the black room that felt like a prison. "You still need to work on the power of your music, son. Did you forget that's the reason why you've been cramming before your recital?" He didn't answer. He didn't argue, or voice how his father's words gave him a powerful fire; a powerful spark within his chest. A sort of intensifying inner urge that hurt to feel. No. He let him raise his voice. He let his father's opinion be the only one known. It was that, or even more yelling…

"You have a month to get your act together, Soul. To perform like an Evans," he said, his dress shoes clacking against the tile as he walked directly behind him; the white hairs on Soul's neck stood up on end instantly out of a sense of fear he tried to ignore.

"Where's your fire from before, son? The fire you had while you played that god awful music?" The scowl he tried to hide just grew larger, harder to conceal against his father's words. It was a good thing he was behind him, he thought subconsciously, relief swinging in his heart for a brief second before freezing with the rest of it as the words "god awful music" echoed in his head. Again. And again.

"You need that if you want this recital to succeed, son. To be the Evans you are." His lip quivered slightly and jumped at the pat on his shoulder his father gave him, before he sighed stressfully. The stress wasn't concealed at all. And his heart shook in anger, before he swallowed that down, too. Click, clack. Click, clack. Formal dress shoes the elder Evans wore all the time in something so informal as their home were as noisy as ever against the black tile. With a softer click, his father opened the door and saw himself out. For just a little while, Soul felt as if he were alone. That he had time to himself. But he knew it was short-lived, as he sighed. He stared at the keys he had wanted to make sing since his favorite music tutor when he was four spoke of how much she loved the piano. Once fun, enticing, and a way for him to let his soul finally, finally speak… Words had always been difficult, but with the piano, he could show the world everything he had always wanted to say. And being able to speak in some form after words had failed him for so long? It was relieving. It was joyous. It was everything to him.

But that connection wasn't there anymore. He sighed, and with the same lackluster, tired stare he had been giving these keys for the last two years now, he lowered the case and shut it all away for another day.

xXx

The best part about belonging to a rich family, as far as Soul was concerned, wasn't the wealth or the house they lived in, it was the outside - the courtyard and outer paths. Where he was after practice as Wes rambled on and on about his pen pal Steven. Something like that.

One oak tree per mile gave some nice shade along the tiled pathways, and thanks to it being open, birds had made their homes inside of the hundred-year-old trees. The chirping of busy birds, along with the sound of one of the two fountains were nice ambiance as he walked with his brother. The resemblance between them was striking as it always was – snow white hair and red eyes that shocked almost everyone to see.

"So how was practice today, brother?" Wes asked, formal like he always had been. (It was almost beaten into their heads to be that way 24/7, Soul could vouch for that.) Besides looking up at the taller family member, Soul didn't say a word at first. Instead, he glanced back down down at the ground as they walked peacefully along sepia tiling.

"Same old. Missing the fire. Can't seem to get it," he finally spoke after a pause.

Silence followed after; not a word from Wes or Soul was spoken for a good while. Nothing but the sound of their footsteps, the birds, and the water as it ran could be heard.

Wes was the one to break the stretched silence with a pat on Soul's shoulder, making the twelve-year-old gasp. The act had caught him off guard, but it finally got the younger of the brothers to look up, sadness clouding his expression.

"Don't worry, Soul. You'll get it in no time," Wes tried to reassure him, letting go and walking forward. "After all, you wouldn't want to disappoint Granny, would you?"

For the second time that day, his brother had made his breath falter in a gasp. There was a tiny gasp as he was given a reminder he didn't need for sure… Their dearly beloved grandmother had decided to fly in for Soul's recital in a month's time. She rarely did that for Wes' recitals, even now as they were transforming into concerts. That train of thought had his heart freezing and his body turning cold as ice. He wasn't enough. He was never enough.

With Soul stopped in his tracks, the violinist turned around. Soul did not meet his gaze. A good thing; all he would have found find was pity, something that would just make his thoughts worse.

Tap. Tap. Tap. Tap. There was the sound of dress shoes against the floor again; following a rhythm Soul could make out. From that rhythm, he placed other notes in his head, and the weight faded. He continued to compose until Wes' face was in his own, finally shaking him free from the prison inside his own mind. It was then that Soul's red eyes met the only eyes that echoed his own that he liked looking into.

"Hey. It's okay," he reassured him. "It'll all be fine. Do you see that tree over there, Soul?"

Red eyes left his brother's face after his head was turned, looking into the powerful oak tree where his sibling's gaze had guided him to find a small nest made by two birds. They looked like brothers. Identical. Just like them.

"Those birds are trying to learn how to fly. Just like you." At his brother's words, he watched them intently, just in time to see one of them fly away, with no trouble at all.

The one left behind, however, kept jumping and bouncing around the nest, anxious about his first flight. Unsure of it. That bird earned Soul's attention.

"Someday you, too, will be able to open your wings and fly." Wes spoke, ignoring the bird that was still trying. "Just like that bird. I did it, Steven did it, Dad and Mom did it… You can, too."

And then, in an obvious leap of faith, the other bird finally flew, being able to turn in the air and fly where he wanted. It was the first in a long time that Soul was able to smile. There was a curious thing about the two birds and Wes' metaphor, however…

The birds went in opposite directions.