Special

It wasn't anything special yet something very special.

And wasn't it? That's what she told Stresemann; shouldn't she make at least some effort to believe her own words?

Rui had done what Nodame wanted to do and made it her own, giving it the glory it deserved. To play alongside a rapidly popularizing orchestra with Shinichi Chiaki as the conductor was something that formed dreams and hopeful wishes. And to already be a wonder to piano's young generation certainly helped bring in the audience and reviews.

Nodame was far from comparable in Rui's achievements. What business does success have in a twenty-four year old music student? She had nothing to show for herself. She wasn't a star. No one heard her name and had images of Mozart's pink spark in their minds. She's never headlined a concert, only underlined dreams. She wasn't anything special.

And yet . . . she found herself seated on a velvet vanity bench, wearing the most expensive dress she's ever had the pleasure of slipping on with her hair neatly combed and parted—by someone else at that. People sitting in the concert hall were waiting for the performance she agreed to do not for the incentive of winning anything—Nodame knows now to not hope for so much—but for the incentive of doing this for herself. She just wanted people to hear her piano. Was that so troublesome to ask?

She didn't need first place to establish her talent. She didn't need to have her piano evaluated against some other girl's. She didn't need Chiaki's suspended baton to signal her solo. She didn't need him.

She had taken the music score and stared it down, listening to Chopin's story and telling her own until the notes wound themselves around her ribcage and cradled her broken heart, ready to manifest into a concerto that no one's heard before.

It wasn't going to be anything special, but who needed special anyway?

* * * * *

Throughout the first songs Chiaki tried to rationalize in his mind. The whys and wherefores were perfectly structured, offering complete reasons as to why Nodame was playing for Stresemann, but each answer convoluted itself into a string of incoherent words. His fingers twisted the program he had memorized, the name "Nodame Gumi" etched into his mind like a mockery of his own foolishness.

In the logical sense Nodame should be the foolish one for jumping into this without consulting him, but the truth was that she didn't need to consult him and he gave no reason for her to do such a thing. What he gave her was more reason to draw away from him and he resented his harshness.

The people around him applauded the same time Chiaki realized that he was the fool for letting her slip away. He had been too self-centered (no matter the lack of narcissism) and he didn't blame Nodame for hating him.

He didn't need to look at the program to know that she was next; the beads of sweat gathered in strands around his neck alerted him to his apprehension. He had no doubt that Nodame would be nothing short of spectacular. Even if she altered Chopin's concerto to her own liking, Nodame's music was something refreshingly different. Her music was special.

Stresemann returned to the stage with Nodame, her dress trailing behind her. Even from his distance from the stage Chiaki could clearly see her polished beauty and the determined stance she held herself up with. Chiaki could see that she never needed him to get this far.

She was never afraid of flying.

* * * * *

Chiaki had the fortune of being able to fly to London on such short notice, but he couldn't afford to be reckless for more than one night. He had a concert the next day, and booked tonight's red eye. It was impossible to talk to Nodame before his scheduled flight, though he could've caught her in the dressing room and had time to talk considering her hasty exit. Too bad he was somehow glued to his seat.

Nodame's music had to have been magic that night. The moment she placed her otherwise too-large fingers on the keys everything changed and the crowd's eyes shifted to her, only her. She played Chopin like she's never played anyone else before, and Chiaki couldn't begin to imagine where this newfound technique stemmed from.

No, no, it wasn't technique. It was something altogether different; an intrinsic feature of piano playing that had been lost for so many years with Nodame as the only key-bearer. She found the enchantment of music and charmed the audience, finding their soft spots and clutching on. She told the song's story, punctuating each chord with her own illustration.

She had introduced herself to the audience, yes, but something more happened that night: Chiaki found her again. He saw the passion synonymous to the first time he met Nodame, not realizing that it had vanished in their time together.

He ignored the movements of her fingers and instead followed the curve of her bare shoulders, eyes grazing the line of her neck until they settled on her face. Here was a Nodame so beautifully compelling in her music (and her music alone—no one could ever recapture her tenacity) he felt the mockery of her tempo and the resentment of her forte grip him.

She had played like she's never played before, but the emotions were inescapable to Chiaki's keen stare. She was angry. She was hurt. She was detaching herself from him.

Chiaki couldn't help the surge of blood pumping into his heart. He has never wanted Nodame more in his life than at this moment, but her concerto proved otherwise. Just how much had be been stunting her abilities? She was remarkable well without match, and it was clear that his existence in her life did nothing to extend her wings. He had been learning how to fly and ignorant of her own wings that needed expanding.

He was late for his flight after Nodame's performance. He stayed seated long after his section had cleared out, the program in his hand twisted tightly as to not unravel again. His eyes never moved from the empty space where Nodame's face had been, from the spot where he could see the glistening in her eyes when she finally opened them long after the last note's hum. And it was clear to him.

After he had lost track of time an usher came and touched his arm, looking down at him as if unknowingly consoling Chiaki with his unblinking eyes and his tightly pressed mouth. This stranger knew of Chiaki's grief, knew of his failure at being with Nodame. Chiaki silently gathered his jacket and stood, letting the program roll off like the beads of Nodame's link to him breaking off his wrist and finding their own gravity.

He then walked away from the stage, away from the hall, and subsequently, away from Nodame.

. . . how was it that he's still the one running away?

* * * * *

Nodame arrived at her apartment and found a bouquet at the doorstep, the petals' edges wilting and browning like the crisp burning of old documents. She dropped her bags where she stood and knelt down by the roses, gently picking them up. She pressed the half-open buds to her face and took in the floral perfume, smiling at the gesture of whoever left them. They've been sitting outside her door for at least a day, presumably placed after her performance. It was a good thing Nodame declined Milch's invitations of watching his other performances.

Cradling the bouquet in her arm Nodame opened her apartment door and dragged her bags inside. She went in search of a vase but, as it wasn't in her nature to receive flowers—a certain person never offered such gifts, was left to substitute with her limited edition Puri Gorota cup shaped in Kazuo's face. It looked like his head sprouted roses and Nodame giggled.

She went back to retrieve her strewn luggage and saw a small beige envelope peeking underneath her purse.

"Gyabo, a note?"

The envelope obviously came attached to the bouquet and Nodame bit her lip as she pulled out the card.

Nodame,

Congratulations on your debut. And, I'm sorry.

Shinichi

"Chiaki-senpai?"

Her debut wasn't exactly a discreet performance, as papers across Europe and Japan reported on Stresemann's mystery pianist, but she didn't expect this from Chiaki. She didn't know how he found out, but it wasn't her concern anymore. He obviously hadn't come to watch her performance, or else if he had wanted to see her he would've went to the dressing room and apologized then. But he wasn't there then, and he wasn't here now. It was clear that he didn't want to see her. He always took the cowardly way out.

Nodame shook her head and reminded herself that she didn't do it for him. "Nodame did this on her own, Senpai. She doesn't need your help anymore. She doesn't need you."

She sat down at her piano and stared at where the roses perched on the lid, not realizing that after some length of time the image of the roses blurred underneath the stain of tears.

* * * * *

Chiaki all but dragged his suitcase up the stairs that seemed to stretch on as if multiplying its steps just to spite him. He was tired. The lack of rest the past few days was something he was long used to ever since he entered school, but he was drained from the torrent of emotions refusing to leave their ominous cloud above his head. Nodame had been constantly on his mind, and for once he had no intention on trying to ignore his thoughts.

He had screwed up. That was a given. He was a coward for running away immediately, and he knew he didn't make anything better by not even talking to Nodame when he had the chance. Instead he sent her a bouquet of roses and a note by her doorstep. He knew better than to expect nothing less of contempt from Nodame's end.

Despite knowing how much he had disappointed Nodame, he still wanted her, more so than he ever had before. He's lived the past four years with her always around that her absence from his life left staleness in its wake.

He pulled his keys from his pocket and let out a long suffering sigh, ready to sleep the rest of the day. It was only one in the afternoon, but he was just so tired and missed Nodame so much. He needed time to think before he decided anything else.

However, sleep quickly faded from the top of his to-do list as he noticed the crack between his door and its frame. How was it unlocked and open? He knew that Nodame wouldn't dare leave his door unlocked whenever he left her here . . . though, he did leave her under weathering pretenses so she may have left it open in her haste to remove herself from the very place he broke her heart.

Chiaki quickly but quietly set his bags down and looked around for anything he could use to defend himself in case an intruder had entered. Upon finding nothing, he made sure to be extra precautious and slowly toed his door open.

From a brief glance he noted that nothing was in any disarray and his apartment looked exactly as he had left it. He scrubbed the side of his face—it was in need of a shave, a daily routine he had dropped since he picked up a new habit of wallowing in self-contempt—and figured that Nodame had just forgotten to close the door completely.

He left his belongings in the hall to make a quick inspection of the rest of his apartment. As he moved further into his home Chiaki allowed the weight of his inner conflictions drag his gait down to almost a shuffle.

When he entered the open area of his living room he stopped short, blinking so fast that his vision took on a strobe-like shutter.

Was Nodame really sitting at his piano?

Chiaki's mouth couldn't work the words lodged in his throat, so he stood there gaping at her slouched form. The window was open and when the breeze pushed her hair into her face Nodame raised her hand to brush it aside, the movement causing her to look up and see Chaki staring at her.

She didn't move from her seat but she dropped her hand back into her lap. Nodame looked so sullen and serious that it stung Chiaki; he caused this. In their years together he rarely hesitated to berate her, but this was a hurt he was unfamiliar with, one that he never imagined would shroud her.

Her position at his piano had given her leverage over him as she looked down at Chiaki, pinning him to his spot with her heavy-lidded gaze. For a long while the only movement in the room was the quiet rustling of Nodame's skirt around her legs.

Finally, after he had forced his brain to work, Chiaki swallowed and started, "Nodame, I—"

"Play this with me."

Her command was bereft of the harsh inflection and paired with her poignant eyes it almost sounded pleading. Chiaki was so desperate to regain her lov—position in his life that he didn't question her and made his way towards the piano.

As he ascended the short steps her scent floated into his nose and he inhaled deeply, begging high to heaven that he wouldn't screw this up. He couldn't afford to lose her this time now that she was back in his nest. If she needed time to fly he'd give her as much time as she needed, so long as she flew back into his arms.

He just needed a way to say all that to her.

The score set on the piano was Mozart's Piano and Violin Sonata, and he quickly glanced at Nodame who nodded towards his violin case set against the bookcase. It had been several months since his last practice with his violin, and was indicated by the light film of dust layered on the case.

Chiaki felt Nodame's eyes on him as he tuned his violin, and he turned his own to look at them when he reached for his copy of the music. Before she looked down to start the song he thought he saw a faint glimmer in her eye.

He didn't know what to make out of her strange request. If this was her form of forgiveness, he hoped she expected more than just a duet. Here was a time he was eager to push down his stubborn pride and grovel. Nodame deserved better than this, yet Chiaki was so unwilling to let her go. He was going to make her see that if it took a hundred more songs.

Midway into the song Chiaki stole a glance at Nodame. Her expression was serene—as serene as it could be with her notorious pout—and she looked . . . happy. Her expression deluged Chiaki with memories of when they played together at his family's home, and he acknowledged the fact that he enjoyed it. In fact, playing with Nodame, whether it be with a piano or a violin, was always exciting, refreshing.

It wasn't to say that they played the song perfectly; Nodame's quick fingers added arbitrary notes, but Chiaki's fingers were quicker as he adjusted his tempo to match hers. But it was different. Her playing wasn't powerful as when she's playing for school, nor was it as elegant and perfect as her debut performance. It wasn't even as cheery as her preschool songs. It was soft with the insistence that the notes dance off the keys and twirl into the muted sunlight.

With Chiaki's eyes still on Nodame, she opened hers and looked up at him, catching his curious expression. Her soft smile brightened her entire appearance. His heart swelled and he knew that he was at the turning point in his life where he could no longer deny the weight of his feelings for her. He loved her. And the returning gleam in her eye suggested that she loved him too.

When the song finished Nodame barely had time to get off the piano bench as Chiaki all but threw his violin into its case and rushed forward to gather her into his arms so quickly it made his mind pause to wonder about the depth of his neediness for her. She didn't push him away; instead she placed her hands on his shoulders, whether for balance or cautiousness he didn't know.

"Nodame." He exhaled her name as if he'd been holding it in for a long time, his explanation laced in his long sigh. He pulled away and watched her eyes slightly widen. "I'm sorry. I should never have pushed you aside. But . . . you surprised me, and I know I'm an idiot for thinking you were joking, and I'm a bigger idiot for not saying anything about it. Nodame, you deserve better. You deserve a man who will support you, who will encourage you to do your best, who—who will love you as much as they could. You deser—"

He was stopped short of his rambling—Shinichi Chiaki never rambles—by the press of Nodame's cool fingertips against his mouth. Her lips were pressed into a thin line and he waited for her to speak.

"Shinichi." Her fingers left his mouth and lightly tapped his chest where his heart was. Surely she could feel the pounding of his heart.

"Do you love me?" she asked, and if he wasn't prepared for her proposal, he was ready to answer this question.

He nodded. "I do."

Her fingers traced back up to his face, where they tickled the stubble along his jaw. "Nodame believes that no one else could love her as much as you do, senpai."

Now he needed his own answer. "Do you love me, Nodame?" Even after pushing his heart out of his chest, Chiaki needed to know if Nodame would take him back.

She slowly raised herself on her toes until she was eyelevel with him, then pressed a chaste kiss to the corner of his mouth. "I never stopped."

Then she smiled and in it Chiaki realized that no matter how many stages she plays on or how many orchestras he conducts, this right here, him and her alone, was enough.

It wasn't anything special, yet something very special.

A/N: Okay so I really hope I didn't make Nodame wayy too out of character—I really wanted to capture her maturity, because with these last couple chapters, she's been nothing but an adult. But if you think she was too mature, let me know!