Tsukishima Kei x Pianist!Reader
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Slamming your hands down on the grand piano, anger coursed through your veins.
"Lady (l/n), are you ok?!" your personal maid asked. Turning your head, you gave a sad smile and nodded your head.
"I'm fine, thank you."
It wasn't your decision to play the piano. You came from the rich and famous (l/n) family, so you had to be perfect. Your parents made you play the piano, like it or not.
As expected, you had done recitals and even a few concerts with 100% accuracy. Even though you were amazing at it, the piano was something you despised.
The piece you were to be playing at a recital next week was exceedingly harder than anything you have played before, and you always messed up on one specific measure.
Tears of frustration poured out your eyes.
All of a sudden, you heard your phone ringing. Your blunt boyfriend, Tsukishima Kei, was calling. Picking it up, you tried to mask your shaky voice. "Hey Kei."
"Oi (f/n), why do you sound sad? Hold up, I'm coming over to your house."
You were lucky. Kei was always there, through the hard and easy times.
"Lady (l/n), someone is here for you."
Thanking the maid, you ran out of the room to see your boyfriend.
Blonde hair caught your eye, and you ran to it. "(f/n) are you ok?" Without hesitation, you jumped into his arms, letting out all the anger and sadness.
Kei held his petite girlfriend as she sobbed. He lead her to the room she spends most of her time. The piano room.
"Hey, (f/n), I want you to know something," she looked up at him with large (e/c) eyes, "You don't have to be perfect in every way. You don't need to be flawless. Flaws are what make you, well, you. It's impossible to please everyone. Just remember that the most important thing is to please yourself."
Your teary eyes searched his for a minute before you composed yourself and let go of him. Sitting down at the piano bench, you started playing Second Sonata. Like before, you messed up on that one measure, but instead of starting over, you kept playing.
You felt Kei's hand on your shoulder. Every note came to your mind as you closed your eyes.
At the Recital
"Next is (l/n) (f/n) playing Second Sonata." The audience clapped, anticipation looming throughout the theater.
You walked out in an (f/c) dress with matching heels, your (h/c) hair was curled to perfection, and a determined aura surrounded you.
You sat at the grand piano, placing your fingers on the keys.
Looking into the crowd, you saw a familiar tall figure. And so the performance began.
"Please yourself. Not mom, dad, or the judges. You can so it (f/n)," you thought to yourself.
When it came to the obstacle of the piece, you played through it smoothly and made no mistakes whatsoever.
After you finished, the crowd was silent. One after another, people stood up clapping. A smile graced your lips as you bowed and walked off the stage.
Your family walked up to you, pride radiating off them. "You did an excellent job, honey." Your father beaming with joy, your mother crying tears of happiness, and your sister/brother grinning, and finally your boyfriend with one of his rare sincere smiles.
"I'm proud of you (f/n)."
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