Special thanks to Yuu Kirkland for reviewing!
Disclaimer: I don't own Axis Powers: Hetalia. It rightfully belongs to Himaruya Hidekaz. I merely own the AU and the setting. Additionally, I'm not an expert on teaching and blindness. All information stems from observation and speculation. Please do not reference.
Enjoy!
Nihilism
"The only time you should look in your neighbour's bowl is to make sure that they have enough.
You don't look in your neighbour's bowl to see if you have as much as them."
—Louis C.K
The spring concert was held only a month later. Arthur had been in panic mode, racing around with planning. After the Christmas concert, he was terrified of making the same mistakes. He worked his students harder, but not harsher. Some other people helped him with some behind the scenes action, and even Francis was a part of it, namely in choosing theme, pieces, and general suggestions on how to improve the mistakes Arthur had noted during rehearsals.
The spring concert ended up much better than the Christmas concert. The pieces were played consistently, and the students weren't frustrated with the mistakes. Of course, there were a few mistakes scattered about, but they were barely a pimple in the overall picture. After all, he was directing a school band, which was only meant to be a learning experience for the teenage musicians, and not a professional, paid band. But his own satisfaction paled in comparison when Francis approached him, after helping move all the large percussion instruments back into the band room, to congratulate him. As all the students were filing out to either go to sleep or finish up their procrastinated homework, Francis repeated a whole onslaught of little compliments he had heard from other audience members. Then, when everyone was gone except the two of them locking up the school for the janitors, Francis invited Arthur to a nearby pub to celebrate.
As they talked over glasses of differing alcohol (Francis preferred the overpriced wine, while Arthur got a nice glass of whisky), Francis asked, "So what made you go into music?"
"Huh…? What do you mean?" Arthur's words slurred together, but at least he wasn't intoxicated enough to do anything stupid, or cease to think.
"Why did you decide to be a music teacher?"
"Huh." Arthur set his chin against the cold surface of the counter, scratching his cheek as he thought. "I guess it was during high school… I began to really look up music and stuff. I watched all these music videos in my free time, and I would listen to music whenever I get the chance… Doing homework, in the car, even when I was dozing off… Next thing I knew, I was in the school's band, and the music teacher persuaded me to take music theory… And I loved it all, so I guess that's why." Arthur turned his head slightly. Hazy, green eyes peered up at Francis. "I really wanted to be a composer, so I became a teacher to fund myself."
Francis grinned, swirling the wine in his glass. "I'd fund you too. You compose such beautiful music."
Arthur scoffed, rolling his eyes. "Hah. You wouldn't know beautiful music from cacophony."
"Hey!" One of Francis' hands rested against his heart, and he feigned a hurt expression. "I chose this concert's music! The students loved it! I have to have credit for some musical expertise!"
"Hah! Those students listen to pop trash all day. They're hardly anything to be judged against. They're too young to understand the sheer beauty of real music!"
Their conversation went on like that for the rest of the night. They didn't drink their night away; instead, they talked and talked and talked—about life around school, life before school, life as a teenager, life watching other people living their lives, and life in general. But Arthur slowly realised something very strange as the hours passed through their words. He noticed it when Francis talked about all the art museums and art exhibits he had went to.
"I think I go to more art museums than I used to when I was little," Francis said with a chuckle. His cheeks were flushed red, and his normally sharp blue eyes glazed over only slightly. "Maybe it's because I'm more independent now, and I understand the actual art behind each masterpiece, but I always thought it strange, because the longer I stayed, the more jealous I would get."
He sighed through his nose.
"I would stay there, and think, 'Their pieces are so beautiful. I wish I can do something like that someday.' And I would stand there and stand there because I'm so stuck on that one thing, trying to figure it out and getting so jealous, that I have other things to go to and I would forget to move on. I always need somebody to come with me, or else I would just be at that one spot forever."
Then he set his wine glass down. One of his fingers began to rub at a little spot on the table.
"But whenever I go, I end up getting scared. The people I take with me would always just glance at one painting, pass judgement, and then walk onto another one. It's hard to find something that they would stop at because they could pick everything apart in a moment, when I couldn't, so I would stand there while they are on a different picture. Then I would turn around, and find that nobody's there and that I've been left behind. And then I get scared, because I can't find them, that maybe, maybe, they had forgotten me. That… that maybe, they had left me behind. Without me."
Then Francis paused and drank the rest of his wine. Arthur continued to peer up at Francis, waiting for him to go on, but not quite listening to the words. He didn't know what was going on.
"… And I didn't even hear their footsteps as they left…"
But Arthur noticed one thing—one thing he didn't notice when he was sober. Francis sounded so sad.