The Comfort of Sound
The screams, oh god the screams. He needed sound, sound, he needed sound. Anything to block out those horrid noises, anything to grantee the safety of saneness, if just a little longer.
His hands lay on white keys, he experimentally push one down. He continued playing, the sweet sound was more than he could ask for. The screams settled, until they were only unconcerning background noise. Even so he continued on, he continued until the red soaking his hands covered the once pristine keys.
…
Music is simply sound. That's all it was. There was nothing to it but different variation of tone.
That's it.
That's all.
But it was great. And Suzaku Kururugi couldn't get enough of it, especially the piano.
He loved it when it was quiet white noise playing in the background, he loved it when it had his full attention, he loved it when it was accompanied and loved the piano played independently. He loved the piano.
There was something about it that made it better than any other instrument. More mesmerizing in the way the keys were crisp, fresh. It was classic too, old and beautiful, something to be cherished. Everything about the piano was inviting, and detailed. Every note and key toned to perfection; ready for use. The instrument was faultless.
The tragic tone was especially suited for days like today. Where crimson coated the sky and the air was thick with a gut ranching sense of barbarousness. The death count today had his shoulders shaking. Guilt waged a war with him.
Deep breathe in. Deep breathe out. His arms were shaking. Palms. Fingers. Torso. Legs. He couldn't stand anymore. He tumbled to the bathroom floor, covered with elegant white tile. Sweat gathered at his brow.
He was doing all he was asked to do. All he was depended on to do. All he had to do, to save his home and what he had left of his family. Everything felt like a whirlwind. Everything was wrong. The cost of rebuilding the country, to saving the world, was one Suzaku had trouble paying. A lot of people he knew were going to die, he knew they were. He knew people who used to cheer him on, turned enemies we're to be dispose of regardless of background history.
Now was not then.
However, the wishing and regretting process he was going through, was something he couldn't control. Even though he knew he was doing the right thing, it didn't feel like it. Not with all the death and destruction. All this sorrow.
The sound started, soft and low, and rose to high and rough. The dynamics changing, the toned working. The beautiful instrument complying to the musicians every need. The player's hands flew down the keys, pressing almost everyone. This song was sad, angry.
The noise controlled the building. Vibrations traveled throughout. There, on the floor, shaking, the sound reached Suzaku's ears.
Yes, the piano was perfect for days like today.
A/N: This was written for a friend, who (to help me get over writer's block) asked me to write something I was proud of for her for Christmas. So this is for her! It's something that didn't take a ton of time but I'm proud of it.
IM SORRY THIS IS SO LATE AND NOT EVEN LONG. DONT LOOK AT ME
