The classic tune climbs up the keyboard, changing pitch each time, until it splays out, then lingers for an prolonged interlude. An emotional repeat as it becomes more complex, dies like a gelid winter. He hates to think the song is at its end already, but then the higher notes return to roll slowly down. A slight inflection that ever so slightly changes the music's tone, as if it's trying to be playful behind a sad expression. It dies again amongst the far treble tones, only to return more fervently than before, the pianist seeming to grow more comfortable with the piece and taking rhythmic and melodic liberties that make the piece all their own. He loves to think he's the only one who will witness this song played this way. A few chords are stressed in a mourning tone. The music returns to its previous strain as if in a daydream, repeating a few times until it proceeds to slow down in rallentando. He knows it is reaching the end, and he strains his ears to take in the last resonance. A couple of notes that are familiar, the last three, he counts them: one, two...
The pianist stops there, on an off note that cries for a resolution that does not come. Shizuo waits for it, the last missing note, the end to the harmony, but it is gone, never to be replayed, like a book left open-ended. He feels empty, as if the note has left this world completely and taken his heart with it. No acceptance, no forgiveness, no words, and Shizuo quickly finds tears warming his eyes. They surprise him at first, but he makes no move to wipe them away. They come faster, spilling down his cheeks and curling into the corners of his mouth where he can taste the sorrow, both his and the pianist's to share at a distance. He can't recall the last time he's cried, or if he's ever cried at all, but he knows he's never cried harder than this. As his back hits the wall of the building and he slides to the ground, Shizuo breaks into a sob that tears at his empty chest and blocks his throat no matter how many times he tries to swallow it down.
If Shizuo thought the pianist couldn't have played it with any more desolation, he was instantly proven dead wrong as the same melody starts to play again from above, a requiem as if from heaven, refusing to let go of this music. The blond presses his head to his forearm and bites his bottom lip until blood draws, but any and all pain is felt for the pianist, the virtuoso with such a heart but no one to share it with. No one wants this artist, an exemplification of loneliness at its core. Their language, native tongue, very being, is so thoroughly communicated through melodies that Shizuo has now given up on trying to stop his tears. The song is accepting a loneliness, not welcoming but merely assuming, while it tries helplessly to find another way out. A bird accepting its cage, but still hopeful that someone will come along one day to set it free. Shizuo clenches his fist until the nails dig into his palm and break skin with ease. He lifts his hand to touch the wall behind him, knowing the pianist cannot see the gesture, but praying nonetheless, a prayer from someone who's never given a thought to praying until tonight.
I'm here, he screams.