I would like to celebrate my recent productivity somewhat, but I'm still guarded. It's amazing what sleep and time can do, but let's not forget the wonderful distractions that are novels, anime, and manga. Lots of them. Anyways, have at it. =)

It's strange how he watches how my fingers move across the keys with such wonder.

"No."

"Aw, come on, Shin-chan! Don't be a spoilsport!"

Footsteps skipped after him to catch up.

"We have club practice in fifteen minutes nanodayo."

They fell into tandem with his, and from the corner of his eye, Shintarou spotted the familiar crop of jet-black hair.

"Fifteen minutes. Fifteen minutes, Shin-chan. That's plenty!"

"Nonsense. We haven't even gotten changed yet."

The other hopped in front of him, forcing Shintarou's striding into a stop.

"Yes, because changing into our jerseys in the locker room which is literally a stone's throw away from that room is going to take up a whole," Takao paused for the dramatic effect, "fifteen minutes."

Shintarou narrowed his eyes in barely concealed annoyance, "Do not mock me, Takao."

"Just once, Shin-chan! Really!" He stretched out his arms on either side, trying to block Shintarou from leaving.

The shooting guard raised his left eyebrow, and merely looked at him.

"OK, maybe not just once, but please?" Takao put his hands together, head bowed. "Besides, we now have ten minutes, and we're right in front of the room. Wouldn't want to be late, would we?" He had his million dollar grin on now, confident he had won this. "You'd have," Takao gasped in mock-horror, making Shintarou's eye twitch, "five minutes less to practice your three pointers if we keep this up!"

Shintarou exhaled loudly through his nose, pinching the bridge before pushing his glasses up. Oha Asa did mention that Scorpios would be incredibly persistent today, but he had been completely caught off guard when life presented him with this sort of situation. Ever since Takao found out about it three days ago, the pestering had been relentless, continuing after they parted ways at his house. He even had to resort to turning off the phone, when normally he kept it in silent mode (he never used silent before, but that was prior to exchanging numbers and mail addresses with Takao, and one had to wonder how the point guard managed to find the time to write so many frivolous messages).

And Takao had the nerve to complain that he either received a "yes" or a "no" or "die" and its many variations… At least he replied!

And all this was just because I said, "Yes, I play. I've played since I was five." Shintarou refrained from sighing, hoping that a mental one would suffice for now.

"Move, Takao."

"Aww, Shin—,"

"Don't be a fool, Takao. How am I supposed to enter the room with you in the way?" Shintarou snapped, nearing the end of his patience.

"…Eh? Eh?!"

Shintarou clicked his tongue at the other's completely stupefied expression, "We're going to be late."

"Seriously?! Oh my God! I can't believe I actually succeeded in convincing Shin-chan!" The point guard practically leapt into the music room, beaming. "You're really gonna play?"

"I would not be sitting down on the piano seat now if I weren't, idiot." Shintarou huffed, stretching his fingers before placing them gently on the keys. "And don't look at me like that—it's disgusting."

"Hehe… Sorry! I can't help but feel like I've won lottery or something." Takao sidled up to rest his back on the side of the school's grand piano, hands shoved into his pockets.

Shintarou flexed his fingers one last time, before starting with a simple chord of a song from memory. Mozart's Piano Sonata No. 11 in A major, K. 331 was a piece he did quite often practice amongst others. Slowly, surely, the song built up from chords into a complex series of rhythm and tone—fast thrills down the keys, scales up and down, hands jumping from one end of the keyboard to another. As the piano sang, the green-haired teen was lost in the throes of notes and dynamics of the piece, not looking up until the ringing of the final note faded peacefully into oblivion.

And when he did, he found himself face-to-face with a silent, dumbstruck Takao. For once, he noted, in mild amusement. The raven had not moved from his position since the beginning of the song, but he was gazing at Shintarou with a sort of distant, faraway wonder—the orange of his eyes were close to shimmering. The shooting guard heard the breeze rustling through the leaves just outside the window that was next to the piano, heard the warbles of a lone robin, heard his own footsteps as he stood and took a step towards the other.

"Takao?" He voiced, slightly puzzled.

There was no reply.

"Oi, Takao."

Still nothing.

"So you were here all along, first years?" An all-too-familiar voice drawled, low and dangerous. "Who gave you two the permission to be late to practice, huh?!

"Crap, Miyaji-san!" Takao jumped, snapping out of his reverie as if a ton of bricks hit him from above. "Why'd you play such a long song, Shin-chan?!"

"It was your idea to come here before practice in the first place nodayo!" Shintarou countered, a sheen of cold sweat forming on his brow. "And that was just the first movement!"

"You mean it hasn't finished?!"

"You two. Basketball court." Miyaji held up a trembling fist (that no doubt promised them much more than just pain), completely enshrouded in a dark, menacing aura of pure evil. "NOW!"