Pianissimo (m. yg fanfic) ✔

♬ 4

- 𝓱𝓮𝓻 -

"don't practice until you get it right; practice until you can't get it wrong"

Even though it's already been a matter of days, Melody can't help but find herself feeling like a fish out of water. Her tutor's expressions waver between patience and frustration every lesson they have, and it's hard not to be aware of the tightrope she's walking on.

What she doesn't understand is that punctuality is crucial to him, and her perpetual lateness seems to be a silent challenge to his sense of order at times. Nonetheless, it's not like she's late on purpose - the fact that she has to sneak around eats up more time than she would have liked it to. How does she even begin to explain this to him?

He's not just any tutor either, but a serious musician with a reputation that precedes him. Among their peer groups, at the very least.

And now, this pretty boy with intense eyes and disheveled hair is overseeing her musical mishaps, a juxtaposition that's as unsettling as it is intriguing.

Her unsteady fingers dance clumsily over the keys, each press accompanied by a jarring note that reverberates through the room. She flinches silently as she makes those mistakes, silently cursing herself for not being better at this. Clearly, all those late nights practicing a few notes on her phone isn't anything compared to the real deal.

The frustration in his gaze doesn't escape her notice, and she wishes she could make the keys obey her will. In her mind, she's already a pro, but the reality is anything but. He's trying to teach her, but it's like her fingers are conspiring against her, almost as if it has a mind if its own.

She doesn't like that.

Guiding her through the basics, he exudes a mix of authority and slight impatience. It's only week one, and she can already sense that this endeavor will test both her musical aptitude and his patience. Each error she makes feels like a blaring reminder of her own inexperience, and the mounting frustration within him isn't lost on her.

She glances up at him, catching his eye just as he releases a suppressed sigh. It's clear that he's holding back his irritation, and she can't help but feel guilty for causing it.

"Am I getting it right?" she asks regardless, a hint of nervousness tinging her voice. His response, though not harsh, feels like a critique she's not quite ready to hear.

"Well, not really," he replies, and she finds herself nodding, fighting back the urge to deflate completely. Her determination, she realizes, is far more present than her musical ability.

As today's lesson wears on, her hands remain stubbornly uncooperative, the keys like an unsolved puzzle beneath her fingertips. Her own bubble of frustration simmers deep within, and she almost screams.

Not to mention, he watches as she struggles, and she becomes increasingly aware of the weight of his expectation. She's trying, really trying, but this isn't as easy as it looks.

As easy as he made it look the day she first arrived.

"I think...I think you're too tense," he says, tapping on his chin in thought. "Perhaps you could relax a bit?"

She looks over at the brown eyed tutor, his expression softer than it was a few moments before. His eyes are on her hands that lay on the keys, which make her ball her hands into small fists involuntarily.

"Oh?" she replies, almost hiding her palms in the pockets of her jacket. She feels a flush of embarrassment as he gently rests his hand on hers. His voice, instructing her to relax and feel the notes, is a soothing whisper that sends a shiver down her spine. The proximity of his body, his breath warm against her ear, catches her off guard, making her heart race even faster.

She wasn't expecting that.

She nods rapidly in response however, her voice betraying her unease as she reassures him that she'll try. Again.

But her attempt at loosening up only leaves her feeling more rigid than before. His breath is still near her, on her, and she almost forgets to breathe.

"Did I do something wrong again?" she manages to ask when she hears him sigh slightly, her voice tinged with a hint of sadness. His presence feels overwhelming, and she worries that her inadequacy is more glaring than ever.

"No, I think you're getting there," he says, a small smile on his face. She isn't used to seeing an expression like that on his face. "But I think you can go a bit further.

His body suddenly leans over hers, his arms guiding her own. His whispered words, urging her to relax and allow the music to flow, send more shivers sparking eveywhere, anxiety mixed with anticipation.

How is she supposed to relax now?

Still, her fingers glide hesitantly over the keys, the sensation foreign and yet oddly comforting. To her amazement, the notes she produces sound a touch more harmonious than before.

When she finally stops, his smile - genuine and satisfied - warms her heart. It's not perfect, not by a long shot, but it's progress, and she clings tightly to that small victory.

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