Every Raindrop Falls Alone
Prelude, Op 28, No. 15
Frédéric Chopin
Applause fills the grand hall of white marble walls and carved trimmings of gilded gold. The orchestra has finished their first opening set. The light cast by a sun-like orb embedded into the ceiling is dimmed, and a single spotlight shines upon the sleek black grand piano quartered at the centre of the semi-circle, as if being hailed as revered head of all the other instruments present.
The audience waits with baited breath as the pianist makes her way across the stage, the train of her gown sliding across the polished wood floor. She faces the orchestra, lets her eyes trail from each section –string, brass, woodwind, and percussion –and gives them an enigmatic smile and bow, before turning to the crowd and dipping into a graceful curtsy.
They gift her with sound laudation. The woman is highly venerated in the world of arts as a gifted prodigy of Russo-Japanese descent. The patrons of that evening's show are either ardent admirers of hers who have watched each concert she held in that theatre, or plebeians wanting to confirm the legend.
She sits on the bench and places her hands on her lap. The conductor nods, and they begin their accompaniment. She jumps in almost a fraction of a second late.
The sight of raven hair and onyx eyes has almost made her miss her cue.
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Somewhere up on the balcony seats, a man is slouching in his seat with his arms crossed in front of his chest like a child made to wait. He blows a stray strand of dark hair out of his eyes and glares at his best friend seated beside him. Natsu's girlfriend, a blonde socialite with zero tolerance for the very things that kept them sane, had wrestled Natsu into attending a piano concert with her. In turn, the pink-haired wonder had dragged him into it as well.
Said idiot is snoozing contently into his lady love's shoulder, and she is apparently too engrossed to even care. He sighs. He holds a particular abhorrence for what he views as another false cultural appreciation gathering by the pretentious elite. He wonders if the music in itself holds any value for the middle aged woman covered gaudy jewellery in front of him. Would any of them be listening if the same song was being played by a performer on the street, begging for spare change to buy a decent meal? It brings him to muse over how much a single ticket even costs, and that's another reason to hate the upper class.
He's pulled out of his thoughts by the sound of cheers, and he realizes that the orchestra has finished. He gives them props for managing to play for almost ten minutes straight, and is observant enough to know that that is a feat in itself.
Suddenly, the clapping gets louder, and his attention is caught by the sight of someone walking towards the piano. Earlier he had been wondering why there was a piano at the centre if no one was going to play it. He's too far away to clearly see her, even if he squints. He takes the pair of binoculars Lucy had lent them.
The woman looks almost empyrean, in a carnation pink gown with a strapless sweetheart neckline, and the fit bodice growing into a full skirt, bunched up to give the effect of looking fuller than it is. Her hair is a peculiar blue, pinned up loosely, letting curled tendrils fall to frame her face. Even from where he is, he can see the corners of her mouth softly curled upwards.
The moment she begins to play, he is hopelessly enchanted.
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She finishes her first piece with the orchestra. It is time for her solo piece; Liszt's Liebestraum –Love Dream. She touches the pendant on her necklace, her only piece of lavaliere. It's a deep blue sapphire cut into the shape a butterfly, encrusted into halcyon. She inclines her head and bobs her head curtly as a genuflection to the onlookers. Her eyes sift through each row, all the way from the front to the top balcony, searching for no one in particular.
It is then that a face catches her eye. Hair black as night, with dark eyes to match, contrasts against skin almost as pale as hers. His features are strong, with a sharp jawline and nose and forehead. She memorizes the contours of his face within an instant. And yet what tugs at her heart aren't his handsome features –rather, they are a contributor –but the expression on his face, completely fixated on the stage.
It's a look that she knows well, one that exhibits pure and unadulterated assiduity. She finds in him someone who truly understands the whispers behind each note, someone who hears the story she tells. For her, it is rare to find someone who truly grasps music as art and art in its purest, not just a claim to social distinction.
Words she laughs inside. What are meaningless words, like leaves falling off a dying tree? Music conveys all that words cannot.
She decides to play for him.
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He is on the edge of his seat, mouth parted ever so slightly as he watches her fingers dance across the key. He's fascinated by the way her entire body follows each willowy movement of her slender white arms. Her eyes are lidded languidly, and she throws back her head in seeming ecstasy. He berates himself for wondering if that would be what she looked like making love.
When the hell did you become such a creeper?
"She was a friend of mine in high school. Well, not really friend, since we never really got the chance to talk often, but she was an interesting girl. I liked her. That's why I forced Natsu to buy me tickets. "
His female companion has noticed the reverie on his face. The blonde, Lucy is leaning over her boyfriend who is still sleeping, having shifted to rest his head against the arm rest. Gray smirks knowing it will leave him with neck pain once he awakens.
"Juvia was always absent," she continues in a hushed whisper. "Being a famous prodigy, she was whisked half-way across the globe every week. It's a wonder she passed everything."
"What was she like? As a person, I mean," he asks absentmindedly.
She considers the question. "She was alone all the time. And on those rare days that she was at school, it would rain. That was a guarantee." She looked behind her, at the door marked exit. "I wouldn't be surprised if it was raining right now."
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A sharp crack halts the steady flow of music. It is followed by a tiny whimper, and a stern reprimand. "No, Juvia, that was terrible. You're playing Mozart. You have to make every note crisp and even. Do you understand? I want it neater."
The basement is a cold, dark, and unventilated place. It is surely not somewhere a girl of six should be spending hours a day. But there she is, with her fingers throbbing and red. Her teacher deals a swift but acuminous blow with her cane each time a mistake is made. The old woman, though tiny with a hunched back, stands imposingly over her, beady eyes quick enough to spot an error before a note is even played.
She tries and tries to make each note's quality exactly the same as the others, using a circular wrist movement technique that was supposed to help. But her efforts were to no avail in meeting her teacher's standards.
"Juvia is tired," her mouth slips. The woman purses her lips.
"You're tired, are you? Then you can either do two hours of straight arpeggios, or get out of my house right now!" she barks. The little girl yelps and frantically begins. Do – Mi – Sol –Do, Do –Mi –Sol –Do.
Her small hands are struck again by the hardwood, and she bits her tongue to keep from screaming. After a few minutes, the woman leaves to take a phone call.
"If I hear you've stopped, I will hack your fingernails off with scissors," she threatens before moving to the other room.
And so the little girl plays on relentlessly. A tear leaks down her eye and falls onto the keys simultaneously with the first drop of a deluge in the middle of summer.
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The pink haired young man, Natsu, walks with his arm slung around his girlfriend's shoulders as they make their way back to their apartment. The dark haired man muses at their body language. The two are joined by the hip. Gray waves until their red umbrella is out of sight.
Unfortunately for him, he has no umbrella on him. He'd rather think that the blonde's prediction came true out coincidence rather than the pianist actually having any efficacy on the weather. The thought in itself is rather eerie, and he has never been fond of anything supernatural. Not out fear, he insists, but annoyance.
The rain falls in a generous shower despite the night's earlier forecast of a cloudless night sky. He hitches the collar of his coat up and waits for the downpour to subside at least a bit. He stands by the covered exit. Suddenly, out of pure intuition, he feels the weight of someone's stare. From his peripheral vision, he recognizes her distinct blue hair.
He turns his head slowly, and finds the world famous pianist watching at him as if he's a unicorn. Her unblinking, dark azure eyes unnerve him and send a slight chill down his back. Up close, her face is doll like, with porcelain skin and lips stained pink. She's changed out of her gown and into a navy blue overcoat.
He holds her gaze, unsure of what to do next. People leaving the theatre pass by without sparing her a glance. Gray wonders if they simply don't recognize her, or if to them, she's lost her novelty off the stage. After hesitating for almost a minute, he extracts his hands from his pockets and approaches her.
"Excuse me, Miss Lockser? I just wanted to tell you that your performance was absolutely amazing. You play each note with such emotion and passion. I was deeply moved; you are very talented, and I will be attending your next concert, if I can."
Or at least, that's what he would have said, if he could. But alternatively, what comes out is;
"You play well." Mentally cursing himself, he sticks out his hand and adds, "Gray Fullbuster."
Her reaction is quite different from what he initially expects, which is wrinkling her nose in disgust at his crude manners. Instead, even under the dark sky and tenebrous lights outside of Carnegie Hall, he can see her face flush a brilliant red.
Tentatively, she takes his hand in awkward, mechanical movements. "Juvia Lockser," she stammers.
"I know," he says with a mischievous grin before he can stop himself, and again, to his surprise, she smiles back.
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The apartment is filled with the sound of glass breaking against walls, china falling onto the floor and shattering into a million pieces. The last beams of the sun dipping into the horizon stream in through the glass of the balcony door, and the dark and unlit room is painted blood red with light.
She stands there, dressed in nothing but his butterfly shirt he had claimed he was so fond of but left behind when he was gone. Her insides feel so constricted by the lump in her throat, by the knot in her chest, by the cracks in her heart. Her feet are covered in scrapes lacerated by shards she hasn't bothered to clean up.
She holds a bottle of beer in her hand. It is a mark of her pain, for she hates the drink with a passion. She places it on her lips, and the golden liquid burns her throat with its bitterness. When it is empty, she throws it against the furnace, and it joins the rest of the fragments. As the sky turns into the dark blue that comes before black night, she runs to the bathroom and throws up the contents of her stomach, suffering from the excess amount of alcohol she had consumed that day. She hasn't eaten a single bite, and her head is throbbing.
Pathetically, tragically, she stands in front of the mirror and looks at the scared little girl looking back. Her mascara runs down her cheeks, her eyes are puffy and red, and her expression is contorted into one of pure dysphoria. The repulsiveness of her face angers her, and as her final act of madness for the day, she seeks out a pair of scissors kept in the toiletries. However badly she wishes to plunge the blade into her dead and beating heart, she instead grabs a fistful of her greasy blue hair and slashes through it.
The resulting cut is so uneven that it is almost comical. Her body shakes, wracking with laughs interlaced with sobs that only the truly insane are capable of.
Imissyouwhydidyouleavemeyoupromisedthatyouneverwouldyoutoldmeyoulovedmebutyoulied.
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In not much time at all, Gray finds that his new pianist friend is full of surprises.
Their first unofficial date is at a coffee shop on the night that they first meet. The rain has no signs of letting up anytime soon, and so they head to the nearest warm shelter they can find. He doesn't comment on the fact that she hasn't stopped staring at him, however much it makes him slightly uncomfortable.
There are things about her he learns that he wouldn't have guessed at first glance. Her habit of referring to herself in third person, for one, as well as the way her eyes would widen every now and her tendency to space out into a fantasy world of her design. If he had been asked to describe her in one word, he'd reply; ethereal.
They agree to meet again, and she blushes slightly as she slides the piece of tissue with her number on it towards him.
For their second date, he takes her to a Japanese restaurant at Soho. Lucy, much to his chagrin, had taken delight in dressing him up as if she had become a young girl again and he was her life-sized Ken doll. He's grateful for that, though, when he sees Juvia turn up in a cocktail dress. They have fun, sipping champagne, and Gray finds that he is opening up despite himself.
But the weeks after that, the road gets rough. Her messages fill his voice mail and they come every five minutes, he swears to his friends. Every now and then when they talk, she slips out something about him that he knows he hasn't told her yet. He begins to feel her grasp onto him so tightly, and he's afraid that soon he won't be able to breath. He distances himself from her, not immediately replying to any of her calls, and then not at all.
After almost a month of ignoring the woman, he decides to man up. He heads to her apartment and knocks on the door with every intention of breaking up –that is, until she opens the door. At the sight of him, her eyes light up and her pale cheeks are tinged rose pink. Her smile is big, sincere, and for him. Another inch of the ice covering his heart begins to thaw.
"Juvia was beginning to think that you were ignoring her," she laughs apprehensively, searching his face for any sign of confirmation. He blinks, and then chuckles back, equally nervous.
"I've been busy," he lies with a shake of his head.
"Yeah," she says to fill the air. "Juvia would understand if you were ignoring her though. Her past relationships have all complained about her being so clingy. It's true, sadly. Juvia wishes she wasn't like that." He gives a wry smile, unsure of what to say, but before he can say anything at all, she presses on.
"It's just that… Juvia doesn't have anyone to hold on to. And so when somebody comes along, she supposes that she holds on too tightly because she's scared that they'll slip away," she trails off, no longer looking at him.
He can't handle it. He takes one step forward, cups her face in his hands, and presses his lips against hers. "I'll never leave you," he mumbles against her mouth, and she kisses back fervently. In stark contrast to his original plans, they make love for the very first time.
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The time has come for her final piece. Not a sound is heard in the grand halls of the theatre. She closes her eyes. She gathers everything that she feels, pain, anger, sadness, melancholy, nostalgia, and channels them onto the piano, her hands as the wire medium connecting her human soul to the instrument.
It begins tenderly, almost dream like. Chopin is the poet of the piano, and the notes are words she whispers into the ear of her lover.
Gray; his touch, his smile, his laughter, his demons, his love.
Her fingers strike the keys like raindrops hitting the pavement.
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"You know, I used to be pretty good at violin when I was kid," Gray comments one afternoon. They're at their apartment. Like every other evening, he asks her to play for him, and she happily acquiesces.
"Juvia didn't know that," she replies with interest. There is little that she doesn't know about her boyfriend, and she prides herself on that. She loves learning something new about him every day.
"Nobody knows except Lyon." At the name of the silver-haired man's name, Juvia begins to giggle. Gray glares at her with jealous eyes. Last year's Christmas family reunion fiasco has not been forgotten.
"What made you stop, Gray-sama?" she asks.
"Ur was the one who made me take lessons. I was never one for hard work as a kid, and so finally she just got tired of nagging me to practice," he recalls fondly, but Juvia doesn't miss the hint of longing in his voice. "Starting to wish I hadn't stopped, though. I had fun, when I practiced out of my own free will."
"Maybe you can take lessons again. Juvia has a friend from the orchestra who she thinks would be happy to teach you. It's never too late to relearn," she suggests. "We could play together as a duet."
"We do make beautiful music together, don't we?" he breathes into her ear and Juvia shivers because she hadn't noticed him creep up behind her. He hikes her up, bridal style, and lets her sit on the piano. He places hot kisses from her jaw down her neck, and she arches her back, pressing hot flesh into his mouth.
The sounds she makes are the loveliest sonata he's ever heard.
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As a born-again romantic, Gray is inclined to find JFK Airport one of the most fascinating places in the city. He looks around and sees families and friends and lovers running towards each other, locking themselves into a tight embrace. Visiting relatives and vacationers can be heard laughing, despite the icy cold glare of customs. Soldiers finished with their tour reunite with their children and spouses, shedding their tears unashamedly, having worn their brave faces for much too long. He watches a mother, still decked out in her camouflage-patterned uniform, fall to her knees to properly envelope her young daughter in a hug.
Of course, there are those who check-in and check-out their baggage all by their lonesome, walking briskly with a paper-cup of double-espresso in one hand and their carry-on in the other. He likes to watch them too. There are looks in their eyes –hopeful, desolate, angry –that are all so purely human and interesting.
Juvia's sentimentality has long since rubbed off on him.
Suddenly something with the force of a tiny bullet train crashes into him. His ocean-eyed minx giggles as they topple onto the floor amidst the stares and tut-tuts of the other people.
"Gray-sama!" his girlfriend squeals, burying her flushed face into his jacket. "Juvia missed you so much."
He chuckles and rests his smile on her forehead, breathing in the scent of her hair. "I missed you too, Juvia." No matter how many hours of phone calls had been exchanged during the course of her four-week European tour, their voices alone never seemed to be enough. The pair holds a very intimate, very physical relationship. Gray, a former ice prince, would have never guessed that he would be the type to sneak in hugs from behind and cuddle on the sofa, but Juvia evokes all of the most personal parts of him. The social aspect of humanity is no exception.
When she spots a security guard inching towards them, she snickers and rolls off of him, before helping him to his feet.
As soon as they are upright he wastes no time in capturing her mouth. Her mouth parts slightly in shock before she eagerly begins to respond, her face heating up and turning a shade of pink akin to Natsu's hair. It's one of the many things he loves about Juvia. Every kiss feels almost exactly like their first, minus the hesitancy and fear of screwing it up. 'Refreshing' is the best way to describe the static between the two, and it's felt by everyone around them. Their smiles are infectious.
They've been together for three years. There's a little midnight-blue velvet box tucked safely away in one of the drawers of their apartment.
She breaks away. "Gray-sama, Juvia is hungry. Let's find somewhere to eat."
He scratches his head. "I don't know if your body clock is still in European mode, but here in New York it's two in the morning."
"Is this or is this not the city that never sleeps?" she says, placing her hands on her hips.
"I can make pancakes when we get home," he offers.
"But Juvia wants to eat out," she whines like a child. He bites his lip before laying down his ace.
"I bet McDonald's is still open." She hates McDonald's. She scowls.
"Gray-sama better be dumping a packet of chocolate chips into the batter." He snorts into his hand as he follows her to the conveyor belt to claim the rest of her luggage.
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For the first time in her entire life, there's not a cloud in sight outside as the piano sings the grand finale. The only thing that falls from the sky is a single star, shining bright and burning out quickly like the most beautiful love affairs.
Nobody does Chopin like Juvia Lockser.
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"Hey," says a quivering voice, hoarse and as melancholy as death. Juvia and Gray are immediately pulled from their animated story telling, and at the sight of the ragged stranger, he automatically steps in front of her.
They had been about to hail a cab on that empty street. The boy can't be more than twenty years old, skinny with peroxide blond hair. His arms are shaking as he holds the gun in front of them, and the knocking in his knees is clear even in the darkness of early morning.
"Hand over the stuff. Starting with your pearls, lady," he demands, tilting his chin as a gesture towards her neck.
Juvia is already beginning to undo the clasp, but their assailant can't see her, as Gray has her entire body shielded.
"Hurry up!" the boy barks, sliding his hand over the trigger. The necklace is in her hands and she is about to reach out.
Gray steps in front, arms held up in front of him. He takes slow, even steps towards him.
"Hey man, can't we just talk this out?" the raven-haired man says calmly, even if his heart is beating frantically in his chest.
"Don't you dare move, or I shoot!"
"Easy, now –"
"I said don't move!"
"We can help you."
"Gray-sama, let's just give him what he wants, please," Juvia whispers, her entire body tensed and pale.
But he continues to try and talk the guy down. After some moments, it appears to be working, as the boy lowers his arm. Juvia still won't let herself breathe. Gray darts a look over his shoulder and their eyes meet, thinking the exact same thing. They aren't scared for themselves. They're scared for each other.
That is what fear is.
A shot rings out, and she screams as she watches him fall. He hits the ground with a thud akin to the sound of the world plummeting towards the sun.
The boy is shocked, paralyzed where he stands. He hadn't meant it. He hadn't meant to hurt anyone. But at Gray's sudden step forward, he had panicked. He raises a hand to his cheek and touches the warm spatters of blood on his face. He drops the weapon and runs, forgetting to take anything.
A life wasted.
She falls upon his body, screaming at him, breathing into his mouth and listening to the silence of his heartbeat. His eyes are wide open. There hadn't even been a moment for a goodbye, like in the movies.
Once it is clear that he isn't coming back, she lies on the pavement beside him, closing her eyes and waiting out the night, fully awake and consumed by the demons that surround them. When the police finally arrive on the scene, they mistake her for dead as well at first sight. They aren't entirely wrong.
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"Happy birthday, Gray-sama!" The lights flicker on, and the apartment so dark and lonely just moments ago is filled with streamers and banners and bursts of confetti. His plans of a peaceful night with his girlfriend are dust in the wind at the sound of his friends' raucous laughter. He can already see Cana passing around the beer.
He can't bring himself to mind, especially since Juvia had gone through so much trouble. Thus he laughs, engages in a drinking contest with Natsu, congratulates Erza on her pregnancy before earning himself a wallop in the head for incorrectly guessing that she is six months along when the real answer is four, kicks his adopted brother in the shin for attempting to flirt with Juvia, and overall it's a wonderful evening.
His favourite part, though, is when everyone is gone. As they're doing inventory of his gifts, she leads him to the couch before disappearing into the bedroom. When she returns, she's holding a small wooden box with a whimsical carving of a tree on the lid.
"It's a music box," she explains as she stands in front of him, nudging his knees with her. "Juvia had it made especially for you. The song is a recording of her playing Moonlight Sonata, so that when she's on a trip or something, she still gets to play for you in the evening." She places it in his hand and then flushes under his misty gaze.
"I-it's not as expensive as the bottle of champagne from Ultear, but –"
Gray pulls her down to the couch, and she straddles his lap, staring intently into his eyes. His stare never leaves her face and he tucks her hair behind her ear before letting his hand rest behind her neck. His other arm sets the music box down on the desk adjacent to the sofa, and he props the lid open. The melody begins, and that is the cue for him to claim her lips.
Their hands find a way to roam each other's body, entangle themselves in each other's hair, without leaving any space between their chests. He mumbles strings of thank yous and I love yous against her mouth, and she swallows them as her pay.
And in moments like these, she has no doubt in her mind that they are a thing of forever.
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The last note echoes through the walls of Carnegie Hall. For a fleeting moment, there is complete and utter silence before every person in the house is on their feet, clapping hard and cheering her name, crying out their bravos and bravissimos. She doesn't give encores.
There are people sobbing in every row, all the way to the pews farthest from the stage. She can almost see his smiling face in the front-most row, a bouquet of bluebells at the ready in his hands.
She pushes her stool back, gestures gratefully to the orchestra and then to the audience who took the journey with her before sweeping into a graceful bow. The applause gets louder, and there are little girls on either side of the stage who present her with flowers. The conductor of the orchestra gives a speech, and then she can get away with just smiling prettily, emptily.
In a room full of people with eyes only for her, she has never felt more alone.
A/N: This took quite a while, but hopefully I'll be able to look back and smile when I read this in the future. Hope you guys liked it! I'd love to hear what you thought about it. All reviews, criticisms and flames are welcome!
DISCLAIMER: I DO NOT OWN FAIRY TAIL.