I run my hand along the smooth, worn keys of the piano, feeling every bump, every groove in the surface.
I play a scale, testing the instrument. It's terribly out of tune, but it will have to do.
The first few bars come awkwardly, the chords hesitant. I am unsure of myself after all this time with little or no practice. But then I gain confidence, the tune coming back, and feel the music flow through me.
I add dynamics, and a touch of rubato, the keys dancing under my fingers. Even without sheet music, I am sure of the notes, as if they were a part of me, forever ingrained in my memory.
When I first arrived at the academy, I used to come here heaps. I guess the piano was the only thing that reminded me of home. I was not used to the intense training regime, the harsh instructors, or the kill-or-be-killed attitudes of the other students. I should have expected it, really. It was a military training academy after all. But sometimes loneliness and homesickness took over and coming here to play the piano was the only way to let out my feelings.
But this time I am not lonely or sad. I am happy. It is a whole different feeling. I pour out my heart into the music. I play new phrases I improvise on the spot, combinations of notes I never thought could work.
I finish the piece with a subtle diminuendo and high-registered arpeggio. To my surprise, hear clapping. What?
I swivel around on my stool to see Athrun Zala standing behind me. I must have been so absorbed in my music that I did not see him come in.
"That was amazing," he says.
Athrun was here the whole time?
"Thanks." I guess. What else are you meant to say to someone who just complimented your piano skills, but you didn't even realise they had been listening? If I knew Athrun was here, I would've played something different. Suddenly every wrong note I played in the last five minutes becomes apparent to me, every hesitation and mistake with rhythm.
"It was beautiful," he says, "I wish I could create music like you, but all I know is how to destroy."
This is fast becoming a very philosophical conversation. Before I can reply, Athrun continues.
"Sometimes I don't know what I'm doing with my life. What I am doing here." His voice is full of emotion. "If all we do is keep fighting the Earth forces, then this war will never stop."
It worries me too, sometimes, how good I'm becoming at killing people. I know how to overwrite advanced computer software, disable an opponent using nothing but my hands, build a bomb from scratch. Am I becoming nothing but a ruthless killing machine? What would my mother say, if she saw me now?
"I don't want to hurt anyone," I admit to Athrun, trying to keep my voice steady, "But maybe it's the only way. Maybe the only way to end the war is to keep fighting until there's no one left."
Athrun looks troubled, and he is quiet for a while. I'm afraid that I've offended him, somehow.
"I don't know," he says at last, "I really don't know."