Dissonant Harmony [G. Akechi x Reader]

kyuu

I rub my gloved hands together out of nerves and listened to the others come in and out of the auditorium. Most sound, however, was being drowned out due to the pounding in my ears. 

Typical.

Everyone thinks so highly of major pianists, but most forget they suffer some of the worst cases of nerves too. I'm glad that they have improved since my childhood, but I can't deny that they don't exist. 

"(L/N), (Y/N)!" the administrator called. "You're up next."

All eyes turn to me and I realize just how known I must be getting. The whispers weren't far to follow and I tried my hardest not to make eye contact; instead, I stared straight ahead.

The hallway felt longer than it really was, and all noise was overexaggerated. Slipping the gloves off my fingers, I stand tall in front of the administrator.

He gives me a small smile and I can see he, along with everyone else, is in anticipation of my performance. No pressure there.

My flats click against the now wooden floor as I make my way over to the brightly lit stage. I see the familiar stand with my number, thirty-two, proudly displayed on the white cardstock. 

I can't stop there, though. 

The black, glossy wood of the piano shines before me. I take the ever-familiar bow and when I straighten, I see some recognizable faces in the crowd: Arima-sensei is in his usual spot on the right-hand side, my mother beside him; Maruki-san is seated in the middle, closer to the back, and I assume he came for insight on what I've spoken of; Akechi, most surprisingly, is sitting not far from Maruki-san with a small smile plastered onto his face.

Not wanting to disappoint those who have taken time to come see me, I turn and settle myself at the chair. I've always hated these chairs. They feel to constraining for any given piece. We are supposed to move and express emotion while we play, aren't we?

My hands rested calmly in my lap and they ball into fists. As if I knew what Arima-sensei would say in this moment, I hum the first few bars of the piece to get a good tempo going, before placing my hands on the keys. 

And so it begins: the nerve-wracking torment of making sure everything is done right in the moment to place. I follow as I had normally practiced, starting out with a happier intro to keep the audience entertained. Starting out any other way leaves them, or the judges, bored. Such a costly error many fall prey to.

My fingers dance along the keys. I kept everything light, as if looking back on a happy memory from long ago. Almost. . . a child's laugh? As the images of my childhood came into further focus, my tone grew a little bit heavier as I got to the end of the first section; the first hints of loss.

I could feel my dad's smile and I smile back, resonance changing back at the end of the phrase. He wouldn't want me to be unhappy.

The B section began and I realized just how much my dad would have loved Akechi. They both have the same sense of humor, and the same smile. It's a soft one; not meant for many to see, but still provided at any given moment.

I know for a fact that the smile Akechi gives to most people is fake. You can see it in his eyes. I don't know how troubled he really is, or how to help, but I hope our few experiences together sheds a little light in his darkness.

Sadly, my thoughts couldn't stray long, as I worked hard to pull out the large chords. I backed down soon after, ending that idea a little bit more sour than I was used to. Must have been the connections.

As the next rendition of the main idea began, my memories shifted more towards the later years in my childhood. My fingers moved quickly to make the arpeggios work in time, but my head was far away.