In Your Shoes

Chapter 4

T/W and tags: Cunnlingus, push-up position, and facial.

Request details: Female Reader x Eren, Modern AU. 1st person present perspective. Any additional details at my discretion.

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Pacing around the grand piano in the center of the room, lengthening my gait to stretch my legs from an hour's worth of practice. In the cool starlight and dim beam of a waxing gibbous flooding the rest of the room in a flourish of reflecting, dancing sunlight I stand straight and strain my arms toward the ceiling of the moonroom. My fingers curl in, out towards the exterior walls as the crisp chill of a relaxing wave sweeps through my legs, up my back, and into my arms.

I can feel my eyes strain as I momentarily let my attention skirt around the room, quickly finding nothing in the room drawing my eye. The twinkling of hundreds of stars seep through the massive glass panes above me, drawing my gaze as my mind insolubly expands within the vast expanse of the universe. My arms fall to my sides as the stars hold my regard away from the gravity bounding me to the minute, solitary speck of a planet in the astronomical emptiness of space.

Another chill runs through me, head to toe, outside in as the unrealizable scale of our existence creeps through my awareness. First facile, then amplifying incorrigibly as the simple inability to fully appreciate the scales to which I am viewing distant stars blows so far beyond mortal comprehension to be nearly useless.

Well, useless for me. Here and now, anyways. I'm sure others...

The lofty awareness drips from mind, refocusing on the silence of the room. The silence previously broken by steady, rhythmic pings of my fingers over the keys of the piano until the last few minutes. I shake my head and resettle my thoughts on the music, envisioning my fingers stroking over the keys for the umpteenth time in a more perfect, crisp key following Debussy's classic Arabesque No 2.

A sinking feeling drives through me, making my arms and legs feel heavy. Dense. Doubt... I am doubting myself.

I strike the thought and stand straight, meditating for a moment to clear my head. Focus. Eyes... back and forth... breathing... in... and out. In...

My back tenses, wearily responding to my command as the bodily fatigue reminds itself. Legs and back align, just a brief moment as I collect myself again and toe around the piano with a deliberate grace. A few steps anndd I am back at the bench, my feet at attention for a moment longer. Each foot settles on the outer pedals and my hands sweep over the smooth, white-polished keys into the starting notes of the classic.

A flutter of my fingers trill the opening notes perfectly. My hands pace back and forth as I recite the early seconds of the piece. Steady, smooth. The first thirty seconds flow clean and crisp. Fingers settle into the brief respite before another flourish comfortably. Some feeling rises up the back of my spine.

I cannot ignore it as I push my hands forward and my feet maneuver over the pedals curtly. A few notes fall off timing. The dim red light coordinated by the piano's computer pulses over the mistiming keys, further alerting me to my errors. Pushing the panic down, I cast aside the strange awareness and press on. Recovering well enough to hear the music catch up with my memory and my rigor well enough to lift my spirit.

But that feeling creeps right back in. Even more potent and now. I try to crimp it back into its place, but it remains resolute and emblazing. I divide myself between the tasks, keeping my fingers and feet in close harmony with the music as I again try to shove the feeling back down into a corner while I practice my craft.