The stage had never felt so empty. He walked towards the piano on autopilot, his eyes focused forward. He couldn't look around but he could feel it with his body, the high ceiling of the concert hall, the gentle slope of the stadium seating, and the vast open space that was the stage. He should have felt scared, but all he could feel was the ache of something missing; of someone missing.
He reached down with a hand to adjust the seat and was surprised to find the knob stuck. 'Huh?' He was brought from his introspections as he struggled to turn the knob. 'Huh? What?'
"What are you doing? Use both hands," the familiar, frustrated hiss gave him pause. He glanced over thinking he would be able to see her again, but all he saw was empty stage. He grinned ruefully before reaching to adjust the seat with both hands. This time it moved with ease.
Of course she wouldn't be there. They had held her funeral yesterday.
He slid on to the bench, perching on the edge with his foot resting on the damper pedal. He had surprised his friends and teacher by insisting on competing today. He had seen the worry in the eyes of the girls. They were probably remembering his reaction to his mother's death. He knew he was, but he'd also made a promise to her...and to himself. He would play. He would say goodbye in his own way. He took one steadying breath before striking the opening chord.
He couldn't hear a thing. Not a single note. Unlike previous performances where he started off able to hear himself play, this time he was engulfed by quiet from the very start. How soft was he playing? How hard? Were his notes together? What was his tempo like? All these questions and so many more crowded his head, making him tense, but then he made up his mind. He didn't care. He didn't have to hear the music with his ears. He would feel it, live it, with his body. He was playing for only one person today anyway.
He closed his eyes.
His shoulders loosened and his fingers flew as he remembered her. He remembered their first meeting and unknowingly drug the audience with him. He remembered her playing on top of the climbing dome with pigeons and children flocking around her. Of the joy and the innocence shared with him from their impromptu performance. Of her fury at his unfortunate timing for snapping a photograph. His music laughed as he smiled before his recollections changed. Those in the audience who couldn't suppress their own chuckles stopped abruptly as they marked the change in tone.
They were drug down into a deep, dark pit. The somber tones of the music were barely heard as they were gripped by a pervasive fear and a deep, painful yearning.
He had been like a man drowning and he hadn't been able to see the way up. He had wanted to play. His hands had itched to play. It had been painful to even see a piano and to know that no matter how much he yearned to immerse himself in the one thing that had bound him to his mother, he couldn't. He couldn't hear the notes. He had gone deaf to his own music. It was, he had thought, only what he had deserved.
Then she had appeared in all her unreasonable glory. She had been his sun in his own personal darkness. Her in her bossy attitude when she had practically stalked him in to accompanying her for her performance. Her in her childish innocence when playing hopscotch or jumping off a bridge. Her in her challenging expression that dared him to stop; that dared him to keep playing. Her in those quiet moments in the practice room as she slept while he played.
The tone of the music shifted naturally. It trembled with suppressed emotion.
Why hadn't she told them? Why hadn't she told him? Anger and frustration filled him and his music thundered from him in perfect harmony. The notes throbbed in the air and through the bodies of those listening. Their hearts pounded and their hands shook as they were grasped for only a moment by an all-consuming anger. Just as quickly as it came it left, and only a sense of hopelessness remained.
Why hadn't she said anything? He would have tried to make life easier on her. If she needed longer breaks he would have given them to her. If she couldn't run then he would have left for competitions earlier. He wouldn't have let her jump off bridges into the cold river. He wouldn't have let her go crazy and run all over the school. He wouldn't have let her stuff herself with sweets.
He wouldn't have let her live.
In one quick rush, he understood just why she hadn't said anything. She had wanted to live. She had wanted to be a normal girl. One who fell in love with the handsome captain of the soccer team. One who laughed and joked and played with her friends. One who enjoyed eating and drinking whatever she wanted. One who played the violin because it was something she loved to do.
She created memories and would continue to live in this world in the minds of whoever heard her play. "I lived." That one thought suffused every fiber of her music, and now he was letting her live on in his. He would remember her with every unheard note because it was all her fault.
It was her fault he was up here on this stage. It was her fault he was playing again. It was her fault that no matter how much he wanted to close his eyes and cover his ears, to pretend that this was all a dream, he couldn't. If he did then he'd be killing her all over again.
Instead of blaming her, of using her death as a reason to stop, he would instead say thank you.
Thank you for giving me my music back. Thank you for never giving up on me. Thank you for being you; you overbearing, unpredictable girl. Thank you for coming in to my life. Thank you for living.
Thank you.
Thank you.
Thank you.
I love you.
Goodbye.
His music soared to new heights as the audience listened enraptured. Ryouta watched him play in stunned awe as tears streamed from Tsubaki's eyes. They had suspected his feeling for Kaori, but to actually feel it as he played was painful.
When the music came to an end it was a sweet release. The overpowering imagery left the audience, but the emotions lingered along with the fading notes that had filled the hall. Everyone sat in stunned silence as Kousei stood from the bench and bowed. He didn't linger on stage. Instead he walked off quickly; brushing past the next contestant on his way. The contestant and the stage hands were frozen in place. The click of the stage door closing behind him seemed to be the trigger.
The audience rumbled to life and clapping filled the air. Calls for an encore echoed around the room. His legs collapsed beneath him as soon as he made it past the door. He knelt there shivering and gasping as everything rushed back in at once. Sweat dampened his forehead and tickled the back of his neck. His fingers burned but their tips felt numb. Tear trickled from his eyes unchecked as the remaining contestants stared on.
No one moved and no one spoke until Seto-sensei came forward to help him up. She pulled him into a hug and he felt her daughter hug his leg. He felt completely spent, but even he couldn't ignore what the two of them were offering and he cried. He cried loud, gasping sobs as the call for a fifteen minute intermission was announced over the intercom. He cried as the other contestants turned from him to give him some privacy.
His teacher led him to get changed once he had collected himself. He passed the contestant following him, who had returned from backstage for the intermission, looking particularly green. He heard the whispers as he walked.
"Thank god I don't have to follow right after that."
"What in the world was with that performance?"
"I thought he was in a slump."
"There goes first place."
"I guess I didn't mess up that bad," Kousei said as his teacher shut the door to the changing room behind them.
"To be honest, I can't remember hearing you play," she admitted truthfully. "You swept us all up in your sound. I wouldn't be surprised if the judges hadn't heard anything either. They may need to re-watch the performance to grade you on technicality instead of sound and impression." She watched as he slumped in his chair. "Don't worry about it now. What's done is done. Plus, you weren't really playing for them anyway."
"Do you think it reached her?"
"Yeah, I think it did." She allowed him a few seconds of silence before moving in. "Okay, enough thinking. Get changed. There are more performances to watch." She bent down to begin unbuttoning his jacket as her daughter worked on taking off a shoe. That seemed to snap him out of his daze quickly.
"Hey! No! Get out!" he stood up and rushed the two of them out the door. They both laughed as the door slammed behind them, hiding the blushing boy.
"Let's go wait outside for him shall we?" she asked her daughter.
"Yeah!" her daughter laughed before grabbing her hand. She squeezed it gently before heading outside the hall to wait for her student.