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Disclaimer: I don't own Axis Powers: Hetalia. It rightfully belongs Himaruya Hidekaz. I merely own the AU plot and setting. Additionally, I'm not an expert on teaching and blindness, and all facts are based off of observation and speculation. Please do not reference.

Enjoy!

Nihilism

"Stars and shadows ain't good to see by."
―Mark Twain, The Adventures of Huckleberry Finn

Since the little spat in the band room, Francis didn't attend the rehearsals anymore. Additionally, Francis didn't seem to notice that Arthur was replacing the original critiques and grades with new ones. Francis didn't say a word, so Arthur figured that Francis was too blind to realise, or that he didn't care. The two continued like that—noticing each other, but generally not interacting. Francis would take over the classroom and direct the art students, but Arthur did everything else while still managing his own music curriculums. Although that didn't seem fair, Arthur was satisfied with the natural placement.

Months passed like that. Eventually, December crept up, and the Christmas Concert was being put on for the show.

Arthur's nerves started firing. He was always a bit nervous during the concerts. They weren't like practices, and he could never turn back if the players made mistakes. Additionally, the concerts were the best way to advertise the band. He couldn't mess up; the cues had to be clear, and he hoped that the months of practice paid off.

As Arthur put on his jacket before the start of the concert, Francis placed a hand on Arthur's shoulder. "Break a leg," Francis said with a grin. He smiled back at Francis, but said nothing, so he didn't know if Francis knew if Arthur responded at all. Then Francis walked away to take a seat amongst the crowd.

Sweat trickled down Arthur's forehead. He called all 40 students of the band, with the furthest clarinettist leading the line as they practiced. Each one filed in professionally, as the band had practiced, holding their instruments uniformly. Then they sat down.

Small notes raced through Arthur's head as he walked onto the stage. There were a few problem areas that either didn't have enough time to be fixed or couldn't seem to be fixed. In the first song, the intonation was off for the first 20 measures prelude. He just hoped that tuning would keep that problem at bay. Then at measure 100, the tempo and key signature changed in the piece's greatest, climactic finale, but the students didn't always stay together. The second piece didn't have many problems except its rather "free" tempo that changed at the drop of the hat. He only hoped that the students would be able to keep up with the pace and the switches. The real challenge was the third piece. It was the hardest piece they were playing in the whole selection. There were tempo changes, key changes, difficult rhythms, multiple entrances, subtle exits, and strange dynamics. It may have been the students' favourite piece out of all the others, but the dedication didn't always combat the problem areas. Arthur could only hope that the reach piece wouldn't crash and burn. He aimed for "passable."

Jittery and almost dropping the baton, Arthur smiled, bowed, and introduced the band, as he had rehearsed. So far so good—he had practiced the introductions and explanations in front of a mirror and recorder. So far, this felt like the best execution. After the audience clapped, Arthur turned and began the first song.

The intonation was gorgeous. The brass sections weren't too loud, and the instable flutes sounded like little bells. Inwardly, Arthur celebrated as he turned the pages. He encountered a smaller problem section, one that he hadn't mentally noted, but the band executed it perfectly yet again. Yes, this was the best part of the concert, going through the pages and getting to the problem sections only to hear utter perfection. Yes, yes, yes! And the ending? A wall of solid sound rammed right into him—opaque and unavoidable. Perfect! This was what he had wanted!

Then it ended. Arthur paused, holding the baton up so the audience may relish the piece in its residual brilliance. They clapped; Arthur put his hands down, turned, and bowed.

This could be the best concert yet. Arthur turned to the next piece, and the percussionists in the back set themselves up. Then he began again.

The second piece was equally strong, in a way. The beginning and ending were as they should be, and the students managed to watch and stay together. The middle fell apart a bit. Arthur had missed the cue he had set up for the trumpets, and they came in a beat late. They realised the mistake though, and quickly caught up for the finale. Of course, it wasn't as good as the first piece, with the strength of a noodle drooping in the middle, but it was passable, in a loose sense. Not perfect, but good in its own way.

Without hesitation, Arthur started the next piece. His hands started to get clammy. With the great beginning, he was sure that the last would be fantastic, if not better. But his heart sped up. Something within him told him a foreboding. Eyes were staring. For a brief second, he looked back at Francis. The blond man had taken a seat in the front row. His legs were flopped over each other, and his arms were folded over his chest. He had a frown on his face, for an odd reason, creasing his forehead.

The basses missed their entrances. Arthur's attention switched back to the band, and he continued, keeping up. It was a small blunder. It wasn't going to happen again. So far, everything seemed to be going well, and nobody must have noticed the mistake.

Then the trumpets and clarinets didn't get the new tempo. The flutes followed close behind. The percussionists softened; he couldn't hear the bass drums anymore. The snare was off the beat. Someone squeaked, and it wasn't a clarinet. The band was dissolving. Frantic, Arthur waved his arms more vigorously, trying to get their attention, trying to make the cues more clear so they could get back together.

But it never did. The ending sounded like falling marimba keys. And it was over.

Arthur clenched his fists, forced a smile, and bowed to the audience. They clapped. He knew that they must have heard the mistakes; he could only hope that he could trick them into thinking that the mistakes were purposeful, or they would be too focused on the beginning pieces. After all, the concert wasn't a complete failure. The parents praised him for the overall pieces in the end. Francis didn't approach him though; he had left before Arthur noticed.

Later, he heard a girl talking with her boyfriend, a trombonist. He was helping the janitors out put away the excessive amount of seats, and the pair must have not noticed him standing there.

"The band is pretty bad this year."

"Yeah. I'm actually thinking of quitting."