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Henry played pieces from the classics, from the Masters. He played songs that were structured, planned out – never deviating from the sheets of notes before him. He played songs that were safe and expected, controlling one area in a life that was the opposite. With time, he learned to improvise, to be spontaneous and not expect every minute detail to be planned out – but even then, he would only work from other. He would follow others, but would not lead forward himself.
Abigail improvised on the classics, and the simple melodies she heard in her head. Her music was unplanned, spontaneous, bright, and cheerful; ever optimistic. Playing beside Henry, she would often take his structured, planned out songs, and spin them into something new. He would sit back and smile, listening, and letting her flights of fancy carry him along with them. When Abe learned to play, they would play the piano together, making up songs as they went along – and Henry would join them as he learned to improvise more.
Abe played by feeling. He both improvised, and adhered to structure – was spontaneous, and planned everything out. He took the best from both his parents, and went farther. While his parents played music that represented their personalities and even certain memories to an extent, he played by what he felt at the moment. His songs were a gauge that allowed others to see through the mask of indifference and flippancy that he wore – they were a window inside him.
Three people that played music differently, thought differently, and reacted to situations differently – and yet they melded together as though they had been a single piece long broken in pieces; as if they were the harmonious notes of a chord finally slotted together.
They were a family that couldn't always act as such in public. They had secrets that could never, ever be shared; fears that kept them up for weeks at a time; sorrow that ripped their souls to shreds; joy and love that held them together – but words to express what struggled inside them were often unattainable. Music was a way of feeling and releasing – of dying, of mourning, and of living.
AN: This was meant to be slotted into Microwave Ovens, but grew into a character study and distracted from the focus of the oneshot. Thank you so much for taking the time to read this!